Here I Am
by Mizu-Tenshi
Summary: Alfred and Arthur are lovers. America and England are definitely not. When England and Arthur somehow switch places, with no way to get back to their own world, both parties have to confront things they never wanted to admit. AlfredxArthur Implied USxUK
1. Chapter 1

Written for the kink meme a while ago. I just decided to upload it here. Basically, England - who doesn't have the greatest relationship with America - switches places with another version of himself in which he and Alfred are lovers. Features AlfredxArthur and heavily implied AmericaxEngland.

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**Here I am**

**01**

Alfred took a deep breath of fresh sea breeze that rushed through his hair as he waited for Arthur to arrive on deck. Leaning against the rails, he tried to find the stars and constellations he could remember being taught as a child. There was the big dipper shining against the inky sky and, to the far right, he could see Orion's belt...or was that Sagittarius? Virgo?

Sighing, he turned his gaze down to the dark waters churning far below him, tipped with white foam that looked gray in the darkness. It was a large ship and the sea below looked so very far down that it made him dizzy to stare at it for too long. However, he was not faced with that problem for too long for, as he began to lose himself in those waters, he heard an angry voice yell his name.

Grinning despite the irate look he knew he would find on his partner's face, Alfred turned to face the deck with a look of glee.

"Yo! What's up Arthur?"

The man marched up to him, his mouth firmly frowning in annoyance. "What's up? You put talcum powder in the hairdryer, didn't you? I had to take a second shower after that, mister!" he cried, poking a finger at Alfred's chest.

Not unnerved the slightest by Arthur's foul mood – he had endured enough of them by now – Alfred threw his head back and laughed out loud. "April fool's!"

"Don't laugh, you bloody git! It's not funny!"

"That's what you get for using a hairdryer. Your hair is so short anyway; you could just towel it dry!" he grinned, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Do you have a problem with my hair now?" Arthur huffed.

"That's not what I said. I like your hair," Alfred placed a hand on his head, ruffling his soft hair with tender affection.

A slight blush tinted Arthur's cheeks red. His shoulders visibly relaxed. "Honestly, I don't know why I can't stay mad at you," he sighed in exasperation but his eyes betrayed their warmth.

Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist, pulling him into his body. "Because you love me, don't you?" he murmured, lips pressing to sandy blond hair that smelt warmly of apple shampoo.

"Keep putting talcum powder in the hairdryer and I'll have to rethink that," Arthur snorted, yet he leaned into the touch and hooked his own arms around Alfred's back, pulling him closer as if to kiss him.

"Yeah right, I know you 'd love me whatever happened," Alfred kissed him once, a chaste peck on the lips, before Alfred unwrapped himself from the warm embrace, blushing madly.

"A - Anyway, it's getting late. Don't you want to - "

"Have sex?"

A large, prominent eyebrow twitched. "I was going to say 'do you want to get dinner' actually,"

Alfred shook his head vigorously. "Dinner's good too! Dinner's totally good!" Come to think of it, he was starving.

"Good, because the restaurant on board is having a Friday special...although I have plans for after dinner as well," Arthur mumbled the last part, eyes refusing to meet Alfred's amused gaze.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Grabbing Arthur's hand, Alfred led the way inside.

XX

"It's getting awfully rocky, isn't it?" Arthur turned to look out the port-side window with worry. Though the glittering elegance of the ship's restaurant; its red velvet seats and mahogany tables warmed by the dim ambience of the low chandeliers, created a comforting atmosphere, he could not help but be distracted by the sharp rocking of the ship and the waves splashing against the windows as a storm raged outside.

Alfred put down his knife and fork, wiping the last traces of steak sauce from his lips. "Are you feeling seasick?" he smirked.

"I never get seasick!" Arthur retorted, but his expression quickly lapsed back into one of pensive worry. "Shall we go back to our rooms?"

"Impatient, are you?" he smiled wickedly.

"It's not that!" Arthur blushed. "I just...have a bad feeling."

"You worry too much," Alfred assured him. However, he agreed to leave for their rooms if that would calm Arthur's nerves.

Gulping down the last of his champagne, he rose and quickly paid the bill – it would be his treat tonight since Arthur had got the tab the previous night. Arthur got to his feet as well, slinging on a dark blue jacket over his dress shirt.

He was just about ready to leave when the ship suddenly lurched to the right, almost throwing him completely to the floor. The glasses and a half-empty champagne bottle slid and smashed over the royal blue carpet. He heard a woman shriek and general cries of surprise rose from the tables around him.

"Bloody hell! What's going on?" he swore, steadying himself against the table.

"Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking - " the loudspeakers crackled to life but before he could hear anymore the ship lurched to the other side, groaning like a dying beast. It tilted again, tables and chairs toppling over and people falling to the floor, tumbling over broken glass and furniture. The lights flickered and sparked.

Alfred grabbed Arthur by the wrist as he was about to fall down, steadying him. They both exchanged a worried glance. Outside, the storm seemed louder than ever.

"This is...captain...please...I repeat..." the speakers crackled. The ship tilted to the far right. The chandeliers snapped and fell, plunging them into darkness.

"Shit!" Arthur swore as he heard something crash almost right next to him. He heart pounding in his chest, only Alfred's warm hand still gripping his wrist gave him any comfort at all.

"Everyone, please get to the lifeboats!"

"What's happened?" they heard someone shout.

"Just get on the lifeboats, please!" another voice in the dark shouted.

It was only when they began to move, did Arthur realise that his ankles were wet. He only had a moment to revel in this realisation before the outside doors burst and freezing water flooded in, knocking him over. He felt Alfred lose his grip on him and he was swept away to another part of the restaurant.

"Arthur!" Alfred's heart jumped. "Shit!"

It was too dark to see much. The water was cold and constricted his lungs, making each move seem as if he was struggling against a sea of needles. Gasping for breath, Alfred desperately moved through the swirling water that was carrying everyone this way and that.

"Arthur!" He cried, gasping as he tried to stay afloat. In the darkness, he just about managed to make out Arthur's struggling body, fighting against the waves to breathe.

"Arthur, stay there, I'm coming!" he yelled, swimming forward. He was a good swimmer, he had passed all the grades in swimming during high school but they unforgiving cold and the sheer power of the torrent proved to be a difficult opposition.

"Alfred!" Arthur stretched his hand out. Alfred pushed himself forward. They were almost there. The tips of their fingers touched.

The ceiling suddenly collapsed under the pressure of water flooding the floors above. Pieces of the ceiling and furniture from above dangerously dropped into the water and a fresh torrent buried Arthur beneath the surface.

"Arthur!" Water flooded Alfred's mouth. He dived down and came up again without being able to get a single glimpse of his partner. Arthur could not drown. He was not as good a swimmer as he was, true, but he could not drown. It was just impossible! He could not! Alfred would not allow it!

"Arthur! Arthur!"

The ship groaned and capsized.

XX

"One more time, America! You say it one more time and I swear I'll throttle you with your own tie!"

England glared at the younger nation with animosity in his eyes, doing his best to stare him down though he was contending with the equally cold look in America's eyes.

America took a slow step forward, punctuating each word with a step that took him closer to where England stood. "Grumpy...old...eyebrows!"

"Ungrateful brat!" England snapped and pounced upon him, wrapping his fingers around America's neck. Dear God, why did he have to be so annoying? Always so arrogant so – so America! It felt as if England was being suffocated just being in the same room with him and his enormous ego.

Before he had a chance to successfully strangle America, however, Germany cut through the middle, his face glowing red with anger. The world meeting had officially meant to start half an hour ago but for England and America's immediate bickering the moment they got within three meters of each other, and the exasperation on everyone else's face was evident.

"England! America! Can we _please _get on with the meeting?" he boomed.

"It's America that's being difficult!" England retreated to childish finger-pointing.

"Hmmm, yeah. England's just being his usual grumpy self. No wonder he doesn't have any friends and has to make up imaginary ones."

"Charlie is perfectly real, idiot!"

Alfred snorted. However, before he could open his mouth to retort, the lights suddenly cut and the entire meeting room was suddenly swamped in darkness.

"What was that?" America heard Spain's voice somewhere close to him in the darkness.

"A power cut, huh? You're as unreliable as always, England," Alfred chuckled. He was definitely not afraid of the dark, no not at all.

There was no answer.

No, America was not afraid of the dark at all. He was not even afraid of the shadow monsters that lurked in places he could not see.

There was still no answer.

"England?" America wondered why his stomach was making him feel queasy. It was not as though England cooked those horrible, poisonous scones for him anymore. "O - Oh I see now, you planned this to scare me since it's April fool's. I – I'm not afraid, England! H – Hey, England?"

"America, you're stepping on my foot," Japan's voice reminded him that there were other nations present and he blushed to think that he had made them believe that he was a scared (which was completely untrue by the way.)

Finally the power kicked in again and the lights came on again, restoring order to the situation.

"Thank God!" America breathed, and immediately hoped that no one had heard his sigh of relief.

"England-san!"

Japan's worried cry made America start. He looked frantically to what Japan was now rushing towards and felt that odd, queasy feeling in his stomach return as he saw England lying cold on the floor, completely unconscious and...soaking wet?

"Ve, it's like a murder mystery!" Italy cried with a look of horror on his face. He sidled closer to Germany, giving all other nations a wide berth as if they were all murderers.

"Everyone, stay calm!" Germany quickly quietened the rising clamour before it could get out of hand. Taking charge of the situation, he slowly knelt down besides Japan and leaned over England's prone form. "England, are you okay? Can you hear me?" he took England's arm wrist and checked for a pulse.

As he watched, America wondered why he was not moving. He was a hero, wasn't he? Surely he should be doing the stuff. Why was he not moving to help?

Slowly, England's eyes opened, revealing bleary, unfocused eyes. "H...huh? What? Where am I?" he rasped weakly until, as if all his strength suddenly returned to him in a bolt of lightning, his shot up, looking around the room with a wild, terrified gaze. "A – Alfred! Where's Alfred?" he cried, panic-stricken. It was only when his eyes finally rested on America that he visibly relaxed, and slumped bck into Japan's supporting arms. "Alfred, thank God!"

America finally managed to clear his throat around a strange lump that had formed in his throat. "Aww jeez, England, did you faint out of fear or something, that's so lame! Be careful you don't wet yourself in your old age!" he said, laughing a little.

England's eyes widened, flashing with a look of hurt and confusion. "W – What?" he whispered, looking so lost that America was sure that he must have put a lot of practice into this prank. "But I – we – we almost died!"

"Nice try but you aren't scaring me!"

"...Alfred what – where are we?"

America sighed. "C'mon, England, that's enough. Even I wanna start the meeting now. Stop joking around."

If anything, England's hurt and confusion only increased. "I'm not – why do you keep calling me that anyway? I have a name, you know!" he cried, his eyes silently imploring America to understand, to say something comforting, to stop looking at him so coldly.

America laughed. England was not about to make an April fool out of him. "Just sit your butt down and let's get on with it. I have an awesome presentation to wow you with!" He leaned forward, ready to dag England to his feet but his hand was smacked away with such ferociousness that everyone in the room fell into shocked silent.

"D – Don't touch me!" England hissed, scrambling to his feet, he pressed his back against the nearest wall. His expression, once open and lost, now closed with cynicism and mistrust. "Why do you keep calling me after a country? Who are you...you're not Alfred...are you?"

XX

Alfred had been having bad dreams. He dreamt that he had been spending a warm spring day with Arthur in a long, open field when the blue sky had quickly grown dark and rain began to pour and, the next thing he knew, Arthur had disappeared.

When he felt the sunlight on his eyelids, his first thought was of white sheets and the smell of coffee and waking up entangled in the warm arms of a living, breathing Arthur, still sleeping even as the sun shone directly on his face.

"A...Arth...Arthur," Alfred mumbled, turning over in his sleep. He wanted bagels for breakfast and a pot of steaming coffee, although Arthur would probably insist on earl grey.

Arthur would definitely insist on tea.

Arthur would...

Arthur...

"Arthur!" Alfred shot bolt upright, throwing the sheet off of him as cold memory slowly slid back into his mind. He remembered water. He remembered the cold. He remembered reaching for Arthur before a torrent had suddenly ripped the apart and Arthur's body had been lost under the waves.

"Where am I? Where is this?" Looking around wildly, he soon found that he was in a hospital room. A nurse, who had been scared back by his sudden outburst, tentatively attempted to speak to him but the wild, desperate look in his eyes gave her no encouragement.

"Y - You washed up on shore, sir. We heard about the Virgo sinking. Some people took you to the hospital with some of the other survivors from the wreck - "

"Other survivors?" Alfred grabbed her by the shoulders. The nurse screamed but Alfred hardly heard it. "Listen, was there a man there? A little shorter than me, green eyes, blond hair, really thick eyebrows!"

"U...u...uh, yes, I believe there was someone who matches that description," she stuttered.

Alfred felt his heart soar on the wings of relief.

"Take me to him!"

XX

Alfred found Arthur lying completely still on a white hospital bed. The moment his eyes lay upon the sight, his heart jumped to his throat. No... No, this could not be happening!

"Arthur!" he rushed to his bedside, throwing himself onto his knees next to him. He took Arthur's hand in his, pressing it to his lips. "Oh God, Arthur, please be alive! Please wake up!"

The fingers in his hand twitched. Alfred glanced up sharply, barely daring to hope. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"...What the hell?" he groaned

"Arthur! Oh God!" Alfred wanted to hug him. "Are you alright? Are you okay?"

"Fucking hell!" Arthur sat up, rubbing his sore head.

"It's nice to see you too," he chuckled. If Arthur was already swearing then it was a definite sign of recovery. Alfred felt stupid for worrying. Of course Arthur would be fine, he was a lot tougher than one would think. He could probably survive a nuclear attack.

Hearing Alfred's laughter, Arthur sharply glared at him. The harshness in his eyes swiftly silenced him. "Don't give me that 'nice to see you' crap, you twat, what the bloody hell have you done?" he snapped.

Alfred's smile fell straight off of his face. "What are you talking about?"

Rubbing his forehead with exasperation, Arthur sighed. "Look, if this is your bad idea of a joke, I'm not laughing. Now where the hell am I and why am I not at today's meeting?" he demanded.

Alfred frowned, confused. "Arthur..."

"And don't call me that!" he snapped. "You lost the right to call me that a long time ago."

Alfred tried to smile but his lips only managed a pathetic tweak before flopping into a frown. He wanted to laugh at this strange joke – the British had a bad sense of humour after all – but he found that he could not.

"Ar...Arthur...what are you talking about?" he stuttered. "D – Don't you know me?"

"America, my patience is running thin. It's April fool's day, I know. Ha-ha, very funny, but now kindly take me back to the meeting place. I don't know how you did this but I have more work than I have patience for."

"What are you talking about, Arthur?" Alfred cried. His head was spinning and his stomach was rebelling against the rest of his body. He thought that he was going to be sick. He could not breathe. Just what was going on? Why did it feel so hard to breathe? "D - Don't you remember the accident? We were on the ship when it sunk, remember? I thought I would never see you again. I thought that you were..."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur looked at him with cold green eyes so unlike the tender glances he was used to. That gaze pierced straight through his heart.

"What boat? What accident? What are you talking about, America?"

Alfred felt something cold seize a hold of his heart.

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XX


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks everyone for reading! Here's the second part.

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**Here I am**

**Chapter 02**

XX

Arthur pulled on a cleanly pressed and gloriously dry new suit, slipping on a new pair of socks to replace his muddy old ones and a polished pair of shoes. He felt better now, drier for one, and a lot more comfortable. The soggy mess of his old clothes lay in a pile by the foot of the desk – his desk he had been told – and left to create a small puddle of water on the navy carpet.

Adjusting his tie, he glanced around the solemn looking room. The desk and bookshelves were made of oak, a great many books were lined up next to each other perfectly, their thick spines facing outwards. His office chair and desk looked like the work desk of someone important. The union jack and a metal nameplate engraved with the words 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (England)' stood on his desk facing the door.

Arthur had never been in such a stern looking office ever since graduating from university. The little office he shared with two of his colleagues was always littered with paper and pictures drawn by the children or photos of their loved ones plastering the notice board, pinned up right next to their lesson plans and curriculum sheets.

He smiled a little, remembering the picture he had pinned up there. It had been August. School holiday. Alfred had taken some time off work too to drive themselves and their friends to the coast of California. It had been hot. Too hot for Arthur; he was completely red and sunburnt in that picture but it was one of the few photos he owned where everyone had managed to get together for some fun.

There was no photo on the desk here. A heavy knock at the door reminded him that he should not be prying. As he turned around, the door opened and Alfred – no, America, right? – slid into the office.

"England."

"_Arthur_," he corrected him. He could not bear to be called after the country. It was just too strange.

"Arthur," America frowned at that name. He moved forward and took a seat on one of the visitor's chairs, sighing loudly. "You know, if this is some elaborate prank I really will sock you one!"

Arthur managed to look offended and hurt, though he was sure that he had looked more offended. It was strange. The last thing he remembered was being overcome by the powerful waves, drowning, _dying_, and then he was here. Perhaps this was hell but, for some reason, Arthur was sure that he was still alive. Somehow.

Only where was he now? He did not like this strange place where he was forced into such cold, solemn rooms. He did not like this place where familiar faces were really the faces of strangers. Worse of all was the one sitting in front of him. That was the worst.

"I'm not lying," Arthur managed to say. "I don't know where I am or what's going on. All I know is that one minute I was on a ship with you," – drowning, but there was no need to say that – "and then I was here. That's all."

America - America, not Alfred – laughed. "Jeez, are you going senile with your old age? I've never been on a ship with you._ You've_ been on a lot of ships," he suddenly frowned, his eyes growing colder, harder, "but I was never on a ship _with_ you."

Arthur sharply turned away from that gaze. America. America, not Alfred, he had to remind himself, but it was hard. He looked just like Alfred, _his _Alfred, but he looked at him so coldly, with so little love or care. It was not Alfred, but it hurt all the same.

Where was the Alfred he knew anyway? Was he somewhere in this world just like Arthur? Or was he back where they belonged, worrying over his disappearance? What if, during the storm he had...

"Anyway, there's no way we can continue the meeting now. You might as well go home," America said.

He would if he could. He would do anything to go home.

"Wait, I don't know how."

"Oh yeah, you're not from this world," America smiled somewhat patronisingly. He blatantly did not believe a word Arthur had said when he had calmed down enough to explain his situation. "Japan'll take care of you then. Go find Japan and he'll show you the way."

"Japan?" Arthur tilted his head sideways. Who was that? Was that the person who had looked like Kiku?

"Yeah, you know, the guy who was helping you up? Anyway, I've got stuff to do so I'll see you around, Eng – Arthur," America got to his feet, ready to leave.

"Wait!" Arthur jumped forward, grabbing the sleeve of America's jacket. Even though he knew that they were different, he could not help blurring the lines between Alfred and America. How could they be so different? Was America just another side of Alfred? A hidden, deeper side that Arthur had never seen before.

Sometimes, did Alfred want to treat him just as America did? With cool indifference and somewhat bitter taunts?

Arthur meant to let go of the jacket but his grip tightened instead.

"A – Alfred," he whispered, begging, praying.

"Don't call me that," America pulled his jacket free. "If you insist, I'll find Japan, but I don't have all day, you know?"

"But aren't _you_ going to help me?" Arthur whispered. But America did not hear.

XX

When the taxi pulled up outside the apartment complex, Alfred paid the driver and slid out of the seat, coming round the side to open the door for England.

"Here we are. This is our place, remember?" he smiled cheerfully, offering England a hand to help him out.

England ignored it and got out himself, surveying the large building with a look of absolute disinterest.

"_Our_ apartment?" he finally picked up on the particular pronoun.

Alfred nodded vigorously. "We live together, remember?"

England did not. Of course he did not, he was not the 'Arthur' that Alfred thought that he was looking at when he smiled at him or tried to take his hand. It made him feel uncomfortable; Alfred looked just like America and when he smiled warmly it was if it was America. It was probably the strangest thing he had ever seen. The last time America had smiled at him genuinely had been...

...a long, long time ago.

Frankly, England had no idea how he ended up in the world. He was sure none of his fairies had the power to do something like this and he had not been experimenting with his magic or Britannia angel's powers at the time.

There was only one other explanation for this; America. If it was not fairies or magic or Britannia angel then it was America. It was always America's fault somehow anyway, even when it was fairies or magic or Britannia angel, it was still America's fault.

He followed Alfred into the building, taking the lift together until they reached the fifth floor. They walked down a very long, narrow corridor lined with doors, England all the while wondering what he should do next. He could not stay here. Alfred was just too creepy, too nice, and who knew what was happening to the country in his absence.

That was it! He bet that America had somehow worked out how to send him to this place in order to get him out of the way. That damn ungrateful brat, he would give him a good arse kicking as soon as he got back.

And surely returning was not that hard. Within a few days he might be able to get hold of some herbs, a few spell books and he could magic himself back. He was confident.

"Home sweet home, right?" Alfred stopped at a door marked 523, throwing the door open as soon as he had unlocked it. He stepped in and immediately kicked off his shoes. The apartment was small but comfortable, neither clean nor messy. A few clothes lay here and there, some papers scattered on the coffee table, a pink unicorn plush toy had fallen off of the couch.

Alfred moved to the large TV, checking the answering machine on the phone that sat on top of it. He whistled softly and pressed the first button. England stood watching him, not feeling comfortable enough to sit down in this strange environment.

"Alfred-san, Arthur-san, I just saw the news on TV!" a voice England definitely recognised as Japan's cried through the speaker. "I tried calling you two directly but there was no answer so I'm calling you at your house phone. Please, call me back as soon as you get this!"

The next message: It was Italy's voice.

"Alfreeeed! Ve, are you alive? Are you alright? Ludwig and the rest of us are real worried." – there was an interjection of "I'm not!" from South Italy - "If you're still alive and not a ghost, call us back quickly, okay!"

The next message: France.

Unfortunately, England never managed to hear what a France from this world would have said for Alfred put the receiver down again and pressed the button on the machine.

"Looks like we're going to have a busy night, huh?" he laughed, glancing over his shoulder at England.

England turned away uncomfortably.

The frown Alfred had been putting so much effort in holding back finally emerged. "Um, Arth – I mean, England," he corrected himself since England had consistently insisted on being called that from the moment they checked out of the hospital to their arrival in the taxi. "This is probably all really fast and scary, right? I mean, I would be scared if I were you. How much do you remember? About us, I mean? You know who I am at least, don't you?"

A sigh of exasperation escaped from England's lips. It was times like this that he remembered just why America could be so infuriatingly annoying. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't have amnesia, you git?" he snapped. "This is all a big mistake – probably yours – and if you give me a few days I'm sure that I can fix it."

"Arthur!" Alfred stepped forward imploringly.

"Don't call me that!" England sharply stepped back, glaring at him not to come any closer. "Please, I won't be staying here for long, but for now that's all I ask."

Alfred's expression transformed to one of alarm "What do you mean by that? Where do you think you can go?"

"Home," England replied tersely. Back to fairies, his tea and his rose garden, back to Friday night embroidery and blessed, glorious solitude.

Alfred moved forward, sliding closer to the door as if he thought that England would suddenly make a mad break for it. "_This _is your home! You don't have anywhere else! Your only family are your brothers and you hate them, remember? Or are you going to stay with your nephew and his foster parents?" he cried.

England had a headache already. Why did Alfred have to shout all the time? Why did he have to be so annoyingly loud?

Rubbing his temples, England sighed; "Alfred, look, will you shut up for a moment and let me think?"

"Promise me that you won't go anywhere!" Alfred shouted.

Well, there was no way in hell England could make that promise since he planned on getting out of this world and back to his own. Even if Alfred would think that he was crazy and try to shove him in a mental home, England thought it was probably best to tell him that he was not the Arthur he thought that he was and, no, for the last time, he bloody well did not have amnesia!

XX

"So, here we are!" America announced; pushing the door open with such force he could almost wrench off the hinges.

Arthur followed Japan as he took his first nervous step inside a place that should have been familiar to him but was not.

The moment he entered his eyes widened.

"This is _my_ house?" he exclaimed. He had seen how large it was from the outside but it seemed even bigger once he was inside. The rooms were spacious and richly furnished with stately oak chairs and tables, mahogany armoires .There was a wine cabinet in the corner of the living room sporting several impressive vintage bottles. Persian rugs and velvet drapes gave the house an impressive air.

Antiques and paintings of people of power hung on the walls or on the mantel piece. Arthur supposed that, living for centuries, England had had enough time and money to become quite a serious collector.

"Well, yeah, uh, England's actually," America said.

"It's…" He did not know what to say. Impressive, expensive, intimidating. "It's…" Big, cold, lonely.

Noticing his nervousness, Japan placed a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur-san, would you like some company? I understand that it must be daunting to spend the night in such a big and unfamiliar place. America will also stay with you, right?"

"Are you kidding? I have loads of stuff to do!" America swivelled around, looking scandalised.

"But, America - "

"It's fine," Arthur shook his head. Truthfully, he would rather be as far away from this America as possible. He did not want to look at him. It hurt to look at him. "Ah, but I'll accept your offer. Thank you," he nodded towards Japan.

"It's no problem, Arthur-san," Japan offered a half hearted smiled as he eyes flitted between the two of them.

"Great!" America beamed. "I'll leave everything in your hands, Japan!" he slapped his back a little too roughly, causing the smaller nation to stumble forward a little. America grinned at him, though Arthur could not help notice how his smile became unsure when he turned his eyes towards him, as if there was something heavy weighing down his shoulders when he looked at him.

Arthur took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He did not know why he suddenly felt like he was suffocating, why the room suddenly become so hard to breathe in, but it was a sensation that did not leave him until America had said his goodbyes.

Arthur did not bother waving with Japan, who followed him halfway out.

He wanted to see Alfred again.

XX

"So you knew an America in your world," Japan took Arthur's story with impressive tranquillity, even though most nations – America in particular – had looked at him as if he were insane. Arthur briefly wondered whether Japan was just humouring him but he realised, if he was anything like the Kiku from his world, he knew that he could relax.

"His name was Alfred but he looks just like this America. Even though they look identical, they're nothing alike though. Alfred is annoying but he's also much more…"

"America is," Japan smiled. "Ah, I think that once you get to know America you will begin to like him."

Arthur's face turned stony. He lowered the cup of tea he had been enjoyed until the moment onto the coffee table. "Like him?" he grimaced. "I don't want to like him! I – I just want to get back to my world!"

Back to my Alfred, he thought, but he did not say it, though from his sigh Japan probably knew what he was thinking. Arthur wanted to go back to the apartment that they shared, to their double bed and the rows of apartment blocks, and the neighbourhood he knew, and the plethora of stray cats that lived in their part of town.

Japan sat in respectful silence. It was not until he had finished sipping his tea did he decide to speak. "Well, Arthur-san, until we work out how to get you back, I think I will probably stay here if it is not too much trouble."

"No trouble, but why?" Arthur looked at him curiously.

"Well, you are a nation. Or at least you look exactly like the nation England that has disappeared. You_ look_ like a nation and being a nation is…a little dangerous sometimes, especially since you are actually a human."

"I see," he said, although he did not.

XX

When England woke up in the spare room – he had flat out refused to sleep in the double bed of the only other bedroom – the sun was shining on his face. Groaning, he tried to turn his body to move his face away from the sun but there was a weight wrapped around his stomach.

Confused, England pulled the sheets back a little, and almost screamed.

"Bloody hell!" he swore, retreating to the far end of the bed as he watched Alfred yawn and rub the last traces of sleep from his eyes. "What the hell are you doing, you git?" his eyes narrowed accusingly as Alfred adjusted the glasses on his face.

"N – Nothing," Alfred suddenly blushed. That great idea of sneaking into England's bed at night was suddenly not such a great idea in the morning. "I just thought you might want some company. That and I thought maybe you would wake up and remember."

England frowned. "I _don't_ have amne - "

He had to stop there, or rather the words died on his lips when he glanced at Alfred's face. Since when had Alfred's eyes been so sad? Last time had been…ah that was right. The last it had been on that day, in the rain.

They stared at each other in awkward silence.

"…Do you want breakfast?"

XX

Eating together was an awkward affair. Alfred made toast and a side of eggs, sunny side up, which became the hair on the face of their plates with two fried tomatoes for eyes and a sausage smile. England attacked that first, thinking how typical it was that America – or Alfred – would make such a childish, fatty breakfast.

Since waking, Alfred had not spoken to him but England could feel from time to time that those eyes were carefully watching him. They made him feel uncomfortable. They were sort of creepy. He wanted to shout at Alfred for being rude and staring, for making his food taste so bad, but he settled for just glaring at his plate's bright, bloodshot tomato eyes.

"Do you have any rosemary?" Arthur finally asked, clearing his throat above the oppressive silence. "Rosemary, mistletoe, holly; any plants or herbs that I can use. I think I can return to where I came from but I need the right ingredients and…I don't suppose you have any spell books?"

Alfred looked at him as if he was mad.

England's anger sparked. He stood up, slamming his hands against the table. "Look, I'm just trying to fix everything here! Stop looking at me as if I'm an idiot and help or, if you're going to be a useless twat, at least don't get in my way!"

For a moment Alfred flinched, but the look of hurt, however, was quickly suppressed. Now he simply looked mildly lost.

"Uh, well you used to be into the occult…but that was in high school. I don't even know if you still have those books anymore," he said, trying desperately to be helpful but unsure how this strange, volatile England would react.

"High school?" England looked at him incredulously. Of course, if he was human in this world then he would have had to go through some sort of education system.

"You don't remember that, do you?" Alfred's expression faltered.

"I don't have amnesia!"

"It's okay. There's not much worth remembering anyway."

"I _don't_ have amnesia!"

"Do you want to know about it?"

England sighed with exasperation. "I don't have time to watch you get all sentimental. I'm going to get out of here!"

He rose to his feet, leaving his breakfast half-eaten and a cold cup of tea on the table, and marched out of the kitchen, furious. Alfred hurried out, concern evident on his face.

"England, wait!"

The doorbell rang but they both ignored it.

England moved into the living room, away from Alfred. He needed to be able to concentrate when doing this and how could he concentrate when that loud, stupid, walking stomach was always following him everywhere like an extremely annoying puppy?

The knocking at the door was doing no wonders for his sense of inner-calm though.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to summon Britannia angel. His angel form had more magic than he normally possessed, perhaps even enough magic to set things right. His face contorted with concentration. Something was wrong, almost as if he was being blocked from changing into Britannia angel. What was going on? Did this mean that he really was stuck here?

"England!" Alfred caught up with him, grabbing his hand.

The knocking at the door had become pounding. Someone really wanted to get in.

"Get off!" England slapped Alfred's hand away, cringing at the touch. They had never touched before, they had never so much as brushed shoulders on their way past each other in the corridor, not since that time. Not since the moment they had pointed muskets at each other.

"Wait! Alfred implored. "Wait a minute. Just tell me what's going on. Just - "

Whoever was at the door could not wait for an answer. With one final shove, it flew open and the familiar faces of Francis and Feliciano tumbled in.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you everyone who too the time to drop a review. It's thanks to you guys I feel like updating so regularly xD. You're awesome! It's quite a long chapter this time but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

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Chapter 03

XX

Arthur felt himself being gently rocked awake by equally gentle hands and a soft, lulling voice. His brows furrowed and he wondered whether Alfred was trying to coax him into another round of sex, God knew he was tired enough.

"Arthur-san? Good morning, it's time to wake up," that voice was not Alfred's and, as soft as it was, it made Arthur's eyes snap open as cold realisation hit him in the face. So it had not all been a horrible dream. He really was in a different world.

"Kiku?" he looked at that face almost imploringly, willing it to be Kiku, willing him to be in some sushi bar dead drunk, and for Alfred to come and sigh and pick him up, grumbling all the way home. However, the moment passed, and Arthur was awake enough to know that he was not looking at the Kiku that he knew. "No…Japan, right?"

Japan nodded gravely, as if apologising for his existence. "Arthur, I made you breakfast."

"Thank you, Japan," Arthur smiled warmly to make up for his earlier mistake.

The breakfast Japan made was not like the kind Alfred would make for them when he woke up first – which was almost always the case. If Arthur did not know better, he would think that Alfred actually tried to be the first to make breakfast.

Instead of the usual sausage and tomatoes in a big smiley face with eggs on the side, or rounds of toast covered in jam and butter or ham in the shape of teddy bears, Japan had boiled rice and grilled some fish. There was a side of pickled vegetables and a small container of soya sauce that Arthur never even knew he owned. England's house seemed to have everything.

"I've been thinking," Arthur said as they sat down to eat. "I'm not sure how I got here or how to go back but do you think there's any way I can return. Do you think that I'm…"

"I think that if you wish hard enough then you will be able to get back to your own world," Japan picked up his chopsticks.

"But how do I do that? I've been wishing as hard as I can," Arthur tried not to look miserable.

For a moment neither said anything. Only the sound of clicking chopsticks and the moving hands of the clock invaded the kitchen. Arthur was not sure if he could call this an awkward silence since he was not exactly feeling uncomfortable, just a little out of place.

"I won't see him again, will I?" he muttered at last.

"Who do you mean?"

"A…America."

"Do you want to?"

Arthur shook his head. He was not sure if he was lying or not by doing so. "It doesn't feel right. When I see him it feels like a stranger wearing the face of someone I know very well."

"You don't want to see him?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, failing to make contact with Japan's seemingly bottomless eyes.

"Shall we go then?" Japan lay down his chopsticks. His bowl was already empty

Arthur finally looked up, surprised. "Huh? Go? Go where?"

"To see America," Japan smiled.

"But I don't want to see him! He's - "

"Don't worry Arthur-san, it'll be alright."

"You think?" he looked completely unconvinced, but Japan only smiled wider.

XX

"Japan!" America's smiled was as bright as the sun. His hair was tussled by the wind, a few leaves sticking out between golden-brown strands as if he just had a tussle with a bear and come out the glorious victor. His eyes were bright, hands stuffed into the front pocket of a blazing red hoodie. Arthur thought his heart would stop at the sight. He made an odd choking sound and tried to suppress any wayward feelings that rose at the sight.

Japan said nothing, but smiled pleasantly as America approached.

"I see you've brought the old man too," he murmured with a hint of disapproval.

"Hey, I'm only twenty-two!" Arthur chocked, this time on indignation. He resented the fact that America had to open his big mouth and ruin the spell he had been under. "A – And besides, you should respect your elders!" he added.

America shrugged. "So who wants donuts?"

XX

Arthur was sure that someone up there did not like him too much. He briefly wondered what he had ever done to deserve this. Here he was, sitting alone on a bench with America – not too close, mind you – watching him stuff his face with donuts.

Currently, he was fighting the urge to wipe the sugar from the side of America's mouth and suck it off of his fingers in that suggestive manner that would make him blush and – no. America was not Alfred. He had to remind himself of that whenever America was too silent to make the difference apparent.

Yet it was not pleasant to watch America eat knowing that this person that he was staring at was not the person that he had loved. It was not pleasant having to worry about whether Alfred even made it out of the ship safely, or to consider the possibility that he would never return to the place he yearned for.

America noticed Arthur's gaze and frowned. "Where's Japan? He's been in the restroom for ages. Maybe I should go check on him."

"I'm sure he can look after himself," Arthur looked at him distastefully.

"Yeah, but…" America trailed away. Though the end of his sentence went unsaid, Arthur knew what he had intended to say. Yeah, but I don't want to stay here alone with you. It hurt. It hurt even though he knew that this was not Alfred and he should not care what this person said to him. Or did not say to him.

"Fine, I don't care what you do," he muttered

America sighed, tilting his head all the way back to stare at the bleak sky. "This is drag. The last way I would want to spend a Saturday is alone on a park bench with you."

Arthur felt his anger flare up to levels he had never felt in a long time. Sure, he had had his petty arguments with Alfred before but even when they had been on barely cordial terms Alfred had never been so openly rude. He could not stand it. How could this upstart with Alfred's face talk to him with such disrespect and expect to get away with it?

"Hey, how many times must I tell you that I'm not England! You two may hate each other but that's got nothing to do with me! I haven't done a thing to you!" he yelled angrily. It had been a mistake to come here. Why had he let Japan take him here?

America shot him a look that managed to silence any other protests he was about to give voice to. However, Arthur remained glaring at him, trying not to be intimidated.

"Your eyes annoy me," America muttered.

"What?"

"Those things on your head annoy me!" he cried, stabbing his finger between his green eyes so hard that it hurt. Arthur indignantly batted his hand away but America had to end it by flicking his fingers at the bridge of Arthur's nose. "Just who are you looking at with those eyes anyway?" he demanded.

"I…"

He huffed. There was a particularly sour look on his face that Arthur had never really seen with Alfred. "It's the same with England too," America sighed. "When he looks at me, I'm not sure who it is he's looking at…"

"A – America?" Arthur did not dare reach out a comforting hand to stroke the side of his arm; he did not try to ruffle his hair as he would have done. Even as he watched America's slumped back, he was afraid to pat it.

There was something about America that was so different from the Alfred he knew, something that he was only just beginning to see, though he was not quite sure what it was.

Just as the silence began to grow uncomfortable, America suddenly leapt to his feet. "I'm bored. I'm going to look for Japan," he announced, leaving Arthur alone on the bench.

XX

Something was wrong, almost as if he was being blocked from changing into Britannia angel, but England had no time to worry about that when the door almost flew off of the hinges and two very familiar faces tumbled into Alfred's apartment.

"Alfred! Arthur! It feels like it's been so long! We were so worried!" Italy – or someone who looked like the Northern part of Italy anyway – instantly sprung to his feet. "We heard the ship went down and we couldn't get in contact with you. Ludwig said that it would be okay but I could tell that he was worried too! Ah, he wanted to come today too but he couldn't get the day off work, and Lovino was being mean saying that if you didn't drown you'd probably freeze to death out there, and - "

"That's enough, Feliciano," France – oh God, that was just what he needed – silenced the babbling Italian with a wave of his hand. "Geez, you two, I think I have a right to complain too. Did you even bother to check the messages I left?" he said, turning to Alfred, which was good as England would have probably kicked him if he tried to talk to him.

Alfred waved his hands innocently. "S – Sorry, you guys. It's good to see you and I'm sorry for not contacting you when we were safe but things have…things have been a little hectic around here too."

England noticed the cursory glance at himself as Alfred began to explain the situation.

" Amnesia?" France – Francis, rather – exclaimed. England was too tired to try and contradict him. He was beginning to feel like a parrot anyway.

"Oh, and by the way don't call him Arthur, he really hates it when you do that. Call him England," Alfred said and England felt his brow twitch as Francis snorted. "For now, please?" Alfred looked at their guests imploringly.

"T – That's so sad!" Feliciano suddenly exclaimed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "S – So you can't remember us at all?"

"I remember you," England said curtly. "Feliciano and…the wine bastard."

"Wine bastard?" Francis cried with a look of feigned horror. "Oh, you poor dear, you can't remember how you used to call me his almighty majesty and bow before my feet? Here, let big brother Francis take care of - "

"Rejected!"

"Art – Err, England! I was just trying to help!" Francis cried innocently.

"I don't have amnesia! I'm trying to summon the Britannia angel so that I can use my magic to transport myself back to my own world!"

Silence reigned over the room for all of five seconds.

"…You know, I think he's right about not having amnesia, the trauma has obviously made him mad instead," Francis whispered to the others.

"You wanna take this outside, wino?" England raged, grabbing Francis by his collar so suddenly that even he was tack aback.

"England!" Alfred quickly parted them.

"Great. Who'd have thought France could be so annoying no matter what world?" England turned away, muttering curses under his breath.

He would have left them completely, holed himself up in the spare room or in the bathroom or something to get on with trying to figure out how to leave this world but for Alfred's sudden cry of; "England, I'm going to make lunch!"

"We just had breakfast, twat," he turned back, looking at him incredulously.

Alfred shifted nervously, blushing slightly. "Yes, well, it's never too early for lunch! You and Feli can sit down for a while. I'll call you when I'm done. Francis, you can help me out," he gestured for Francis to follow him into the kitchen. Probably for a long chat. Hopefully without being molested.

"Fine, whatever," England huffed and made himself comfortable on the couch. Feliciano cheerfully took one of the armchairs, stooping down to pick up the unicorn plush that had fallen down and had never been retrieved.

A moment of silence passed between them, Feliciano simply patting the unicorn and making lots of 've!' sounds. Another moment of silence passed and England began to squirm. Now that he thought about it, he had never had a proper conversation with Feliciano before. The Italy of his world was still so scared of him that all the necessary talking usually went through Germany and any attempt at casual conversation was quickly thwarted by the fading sound of Italy's scream as he ran away.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked as he noticed Feliciano staring at him. This human version did not seem scared of him at all.

The corners of Feliciano's mouth turned downwards. "Can you really not remember anything?"

"I don't - "

"But that's so sad!" he cried, looking about to burst into tears again, though he did not.

"Then tell me about it," was the first thing England could think of saying and, no sooner were the words out of his mouth, he was ready to kick himself for it.

"Really?" Feliciano brightened to almost blinding levels of happiness.

"I'd like to know," he lied.

Feliciano nodded enthusiastically. "Then I'll tell you about how you and Alfred met. I know 'cause Alfred always tells this story when he gets drunk. Ah, I wasn't supposed to say that! …Anyway, it was a week after Alfred's eighteenth birthday, remember?"

"So late?" England was surprised. That meant that they had not met as children, that he had never known the baby Alfred. England pitied the other him a little; he had never known the cute little boy whom England had loved so much.

"He went to a university open day. That's where he met you. You were a freshman there," Feliciano continued before England could start feeling nostalgic.

"I was?"

"You had a long chat and when he told you his grades you said that there was 'no way an idiot like you will even get to the interview stage with crap grades like that'."

"But he did, I assume."

He nodded again. "Alfred tried really, really hard to improve his grades! I know because I was in his study group, ve! He was always ranting on about 'showing that eyebrow bastard a thing or two.'!"

"Oh really?" England raised an eyebrow. Somehow he had the feeling that, had he been the Arthur of this world, he should be more annoyed at what he was hearing

"And then he got in and you guys met because you were doing the same course, and after that Alfred wouldn't leave you alone. Ah, I suppose you could call it harassment. Ve, bullying, maybe?" he tilted his head to one side in confusion. "But looking back, I think he just wanted your attention!" he ended on a happy note.

"Sounds like we had a whale of a time," England muttered so that no one could miss the sarcasm in his voice.

"You did!" Feliciano chirped happily. England wanted his embroidery hoop so that he could smack something with it, maybe Feliciano. However, he ceased all thoughts of violence as soon as he noticed Alfred's presence lingering in the doorway.

"Lunch is ready," he announced with the same look on his face England had seen when they had woken up; that slightly sad, slightly lost look in his eyes.

XX

"Ludwig's coming to pick you up, right Feli?" Alfred turned to the Italian as they were eating a hastily made lunch. He suddenly pulled on a cheerful expression, forgetting about the sadness he had felt as he watched Feliciano and England talk.

"What about this thing? When are we throwing out this?" England pointed at figure at Francis, who was sitting near his elbow eating pasta.

"As cruel as always, Arthur!"

"My name is England!"

"Yes yes," Francis' dismissive air told him that he really did not care either way. "So, I assume you've prepared the guest bedroom for me," he said.

England could have strangled him there and then had he not been so taken aback by the request. "B – B – But then where will I sleep?"

Francis looked at him as if he were mad. Madder perhaps, since he already apparently thought that he was missing a screw or two. "With Alfred of course," he said as if this were obvious.

England groaned and let his head hit the table.

* * *

XX


	4. Chapter 4

Another day, another chapter...

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Chapter 04

XX

Arthur buried his hands in his pockets, finally releasing the breath that he had not realised he had been holding. There was something frightening about conversing with America, something that made him want to run away the moment the other opened his mouth.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every hurtful word was like a barrage of bullets, or the fact that America looked so much like Alfred, but he did not think that he could endure a lengthy conversation with the nation.

"I'm stuck here, aren't I?" he muttered to himself.

He had been so preoccupied trying to keep a brave front up for Japan and, even worse, America, that he had never had a moment to really feel unhappy. Now that he was alone, abandoned again, he took plenty of time to revel in his own misery.

He watched a young boy, carefully overseen by his father, throw a stick for his dog to chase and laugh every time the animal leaped and bounded away. His happiness grated with Arthur's melancholy. Each peal of laughter was a stab to the heart.

Arthur sank into the bench, and began staring listlessly at the unexceptionally cloudy sky. He was too busy trying to find more reasons to be miserable that he only vaguely registered the sound of boots crunching against the gravel.

"Geez, where did that Japan go? Has he ditched me all of a sudden?" America complained, still hugging his only half-eaten bag of donuts to his chest.

"Why don't you just go home then?"

"That's a good idea," America brightened. Probably thinking about the games he had yet to complete.

"Wait, don't leave me!" Arthur suddenly jerked forward, grabbing the elbow of America's bombed jacket before he could stop himself.

America looked back at him with a look of scorn. "Why? You said yourself that I should go home," he tugged his elbow back, out of Arthur's grip.

"Yes but…" Arthur flushed with embarrassment, "show me where my house is first."

America heaved a sigh. It was far louder than necessary, but Arthur drew back his breath and tried to ignore it. "Ah geez, you really are a handful, you know?"

"Well sorry!" Arthur spat, turning his angry gaze upon the floor, as though it were personally responsible for everything that had happened to him.

However, America had barely heard his word, but he had been able to pick upon the bitterness in Arthur's voice. He could have stayed silent and chose not to comment on it but, without thinking, he asked; "What was that?"

Arthur's nails bit into flesh where he had curled his hands into fists. "I said I'm sorry okay?" he shouted, drawing the attention of two elderly ladies passing by. They glanced at him and quickly scurried on. "I'm sorry that I happened to get thrown into this stupid world!"

The words tumbled out. He could no longer control it. He could not hold it back anymore. They flooded out of his mouth, taking all his rage, all his unhappiness, and all his fear with it. He ranted like he had never ranted before. He ranted as if the words that had dried up for ages were suddenly coming back to him in one endless stream.

"I'm sorry I don't know a thing about what's going on! I'm sorry I can't do anything and people have to baby-sit me! I'm sorry you have to take a moment out of your oh-so precious time to patronise me and make snarky comments about my ignorance, because, being thrown into a world that I don't know with no one to help me, of course I should be able to handle everything swimmingly! Of course, I'm so sorry! How will you ever forgive me?"

Arthur bowed his head and drew a long, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself. He could not bring himself to look at America after that. After he had said all that. The silence that followed was palpable.

After the eternity of silence continued, Arthur finally managed to bring his gaze to America's.

"A…America…I - "

"Are you quite finished yet?"

His eyes were hard, harder than Arthur had ever seen them. His body was stiff and unmoving, his mouth had turned into a fixed frown, whose corners only slightly twitched.

Arthur froze, unsure of what to do, unsure of what America would do. He did not think it beyond his means to just kill him and hide his body somewhere. Or perhaps America would give him another verbal beating, or maybe he would walk away with a grudge against him that would last for eternity.

"Good, then let's go. I don't have all day," America began to walk away.

It felt as though all the sound had been sucked out of the world. Arthur could no longer hear the birds. He could not hear that kid's grating laughter or the bark of the dog. He could not hear the footsteps on the path or the sound of his own chest breathing in, breathing out.

But America was getting further and further away and he was feeling more and more lost. Arthur ran after him, his pace slowing so that he could trail behind America's footsteps.

"You're mean," his pained whisper seemed to echo even in the vacuum of silence. "The Alfred I knew was an idiot but he was much kinder than you could ever be. He was much more… much more…"

Dazzling, he wanted to say. His eyes shone brighter. His smile was more enchanting. His every movement was much more vivacious.

But America was no Alfred. Even if he was nicer, he could never be Alfred, and Arthur realised that that was where he had been making a mistake. Of course America was not Alfred, they had grown up in completely different circumstances and it was foolish to try to compare one with the other.

They continued walking in absolute silence for the rest of the way back. Arthur stared from America's bobbing shadow to the nation himself, his gaze lifting and falling without uttering a word, though he no longer felt the silence. He was trying to burn this image into the back of his mind.

They finally reached England's house within twenty minutes of setting out from the park. Arthur stopped and turned once he realised that he had overtaken America and that America had, in fact, stopped before the gate to the front yard.

He looked at him questioningly but it seemed that it was America's turn to not meet his gaze.

Arthur wondered if he could be considered an idiot for softening towards the nation at that moment. There was just something so…childlike about seeing him like that; shoulders slumped, hands stuffed petulantly into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes falling to the ground like a child who had been caught stealing sweets.

"I'm sorry."

That made America look up, but he ruined the endearing expression on his face by letting his shock melt into one of wary scepticism.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. He was learning more and more about America with every glance. Not only could he be incredibly intimidating but he could be incredibly childish too.

"I'm not being sarcastic this time. I'm really sorry. All this time I've just been comparing you to Alfred but you're not him, are you? You're America. Of course you'll be different from him, you're a different person. Sort of."

America paused for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. "I don't care. Do what you want."

"America," Arthur offered him a tentative smile. "I - I don't hate you. I suppose I don't really know you well enough to hate you or like you, but…" he shook his head and gathered all the courage he had, "I - I'm looking at you, America."

America's gaze dropped to the ground as quickly as a ball of lead from a building block. "Really?" he kicked the gravel outside the gate. "And what?"

Arthur had to bite his lip to stop himself from snapping immediately at America's reaction. He was trying, honestly trying to patch things up with America even though it was not his fault their 'relationship' had even soured, but it felt as though he were hitting a brick wall every time.

"You accused me of not looking at you but at the person you looked like, and you were right! Up until now I looked at you and just saw Alfred, but what about you? Who are you looking at when you look at me? I'm not England you know!" he hissed.

"Yeah, I know. You're not that grouchy old man…though you're still grouchy."

He opened his mouth to say something scornful, caught himself at the last minute, and managed, with supreme effort on his side, to refrain from commenting.

"…Do you want to come in?" he offered, swinging the gate open. He would continue to try and be nice as long as he had the patience for it, but it was wearing thin.

America shook his head. "I have things to do."

"Oh right, you said that already," Arthur wanted to ask why America hated England but he did not know if he dared to just yet. Maybe he would ask Japan about it later. If Japan showed up again.

"Here," America shoved his bag of donuts into Arthur's arms. "If you're anything like England you'll just burn dinner so have these. I was going to throw them away anyway," he shrugged.

"I don't get you," Arthur whispered, but America had already turned and was walking away.

He managed to let himself in with the key Japan had given him before leaving. Upon closing the door, he went straight to the kitchen and emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. Five cold, brightly coloured donuts tumbled onto the tablecloth. Arthur picked up one of them and inspected it.

It did not look as though it had been poisoned.

He bit into it.

It was good.

And though Arthur thought it was stupid to cry because of how good the donuts were, somehow he could not stop. Somehow, they made him feel utterly miserable.

XX

When Alfred returned from seeing Feliciano safely to Ludwig's car, he re-entered the apartment to find England adjusting pillows and draping a blanket over the couch,

"England, what are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go to sleep," was the reply grunted from half-hearted lips.

"On the couch?"

At that moment England finally looked up, sighing with exasperation. "Yes, on the couch. I am not sleeping with you and since wine-git has taken the only other bed, this is the only place I can sleep besides the floor."

"Do you really hate me that much? Just take the bed. I promise I won't touch you. It's a big bed, you won't even notice I'm there!"

"I don't want to share a bed with you!" England spat with such animosity that Alfred almost stepped back. He definitely did not want to sleep with Alfred.

The last time he had slept with America had been long ago when America had been a child and he the guardian of sweet dreams. America had been the one to shatter that custom and now Alfred, this pathetic shadow of America, was suggesting that they sleep together? It was not even funny enough for England to laugh.

Alfred pursed his lips anxiously and stared at England fussing over the blanket. "Fine," he muttered, charging towards England. He gently pushed aside and threw himself on to the couch, disturbing the blanket England had painstakingly smoothed down.

"W – What are you doing?" England almost shrieked, but it was late and Francis had already gone to sleep. He did not want that wine git waking up to tease him again.

"Take the bed, England. I'll sleep here," Alfred wriggled under the blanket.

"B – But - "

"I'm gonna keep Charlie company," he smiled, reaching for the pink unicorn plush toy.

England's nose wrinkled with disgust. Alfred was being stupid again - when was he ever different? - but if he insisted on sleeping in a less comfortable place then it was his loss. He was not about to lose sleep over it. "Fine do whatever you want, idiot," he headed towards the bedroom.

At least, England had believed that he was not going to lose sleep but, after two hours of tossing and turning, he knew that there was no way in all the seven seas that he would be able to sleep peacefully in Alfred's giant double bed.

This was where Alfred and Arthur slept together. This was where they had held each other, curled up against each other. This was where they made love.

"How the hell can I sleep like this?" he screamed, throwing the covers off and marching out of the bedroom.

He felt dirty sleeping there. It was uncomfortable anyway. He just wanted to be somewhere where Alfred was not. Yes, he would be able to sleep just fine if it was not for him!

It was true that Alfred had only treated him with consideration thus far. Yet though this Alfred appeared to always be kind to him, there was no way England could trust that kindness. America had been kind when he was young but that had made things hurt all the more when he stopped. It was easier to bear the grudge of someone who has always hated you than to endure the hatred of someone who had once loved you. Being hated by someone you loved and who loved you back was the worst thing in the world.

"Thank God I don't feel like that anymore," England muttered to himself as he made his way to the front room.

Alfred was sleeping soundly, curled up with the unicorn toy on the couch. England paused, taking in his sleeping face. He looked stupid even when his eyes were closed; like a good-for-nothing busy body who was always trying to get involved in other people's business.

England lifted a pillow from the armchair and hit him over the head.

"Oi, twat! I can't sleep and it's all your fault! You take the bed. I'll sleep better on the couch anyway." Or far away. Far, far away, in his own house, all alone. All alone and safe.

Alfred groaned, blinking blearily at England. It took a moment for the words to fully register in his sleep-numbed mind but, as soon as they had, he shook his head and managed to mumble; "I'm not going to go to bed unless it's with you."

England blushed with indignation. He should have just whacked him again but he managed to refrain. "…You really - "

"I love you."

Alfred, now fully awake and alert, managed to make England step back by the force of his words alone. That, and the fact that his eyes were shining with an expression England had never seen before. He was not quite sure what it was, only that it scared him. It made him feel uneasy.

"You're not him," he whispered.

"What?" Alfred blinked a few times.

"He would never say that to me."

"Who?"

Now that he had regained his composure, England glared at America with as much coldness as he could assume. "It's stupid, isn't it? I'm sorry but I refuse to let myself be fooled by anyone," he said sternly.

"But I love you!" Alfred practically leapt up from the couch. His hands gripped England's shoulders, shaking them lightly. "I always loved you, ever since I met you! I'll always love you fore - "

"Don't say forever!" England's angry shout could have ripped the night apart. "I hate that word 'forever'. There's no such thing as forever. Even after you've lived for three hundred years you know that everything always changes and nothing ever stays the same, not even feelings. So don't say forever as if you know what it's like! Don't say forever as if you can guarantee what you have no power over!"

With one last, smouldering look, he batted Alfred's hands away. He was not sure where he was going. He was not sure what he was going to do. All he knew was that he wanted to get as far away from this person as possible.

"England!" Alfred grabbed him again as he tried to turn away.

"What do you want this time?" England planned to snap at him, only he did not quite manage it.

His rage was silenced by Alfred pressing his lips against his.

* * *

XX


	5. Chapter 5

XX

* * *

Here I am 05

XX

It seemed to Arthur that he was forever doomed to be woken up by something way before a decent hour. This time it was not Japan politely shaking him awake with breakfast made and ready on the table but the rather loud, and very insistent, ringing of the telephone.

Cursing under his breath, he flung himself out of bed and raced toward living room where the phone was resting by his much unused television.

"Hello?" Arthur answered the call rather breathlessly.

"Arthur-san!" Japan's flustered voice was the last thins that he had been expecting to hear on the other end. Granted, he had been rather worried when he had not returned last night, but he had been sure that Japan would know how to take care of himself. He knew how this world worked after all.

"J - Japan? Is that you? Where were you? Are you okay?" Arthur gripped the speaker slightly closer, listening intently to every heavy breath that came through.

"I - I'm very sorry Arthur-san. When I went to use the public facilities I met an old woman whose shopping bags had broken so I accompanied her to her house carrying her shopping for her. I planned to be back in fifteen minutes but then she insisted on making dinner to thank me and I couldn't say no so I ended up staying for dinner and then her kids came back and wanted to play so - "

"H - Hang on Japan," he said before Japan could start apologising again. "I understand. I completely understand, and it's okay. I got back fine. I had dinner…"

"I'm so sorry for leaving you! I'm making my way to your house right now!"

Ah so that explained the panting, he thought. Japan was probably hurrying back as he was talking. A soft, warm feeling bloomed inside Arthur's chest. After all the crap that had happened to him, he feeling as though at least someone cared for him.

"Technically, it's England's house, but thank you." The smile had was wearing when he hung up faded a little upon an after thought. Japan had called it his house. Though he knew that it was probably not intended, it felt as if it was becoming a given that he would be staying a while longer in this world.

He looked at his hand resting on top of the phone, to the empty leather couch covered with a knitted woollen throw-over, the shade of fading sand, like something his grandmother would have owned.

He listened to the echo of silence and sighed.

"Alfred…"

XX

"Coming! I'm coming, I said!"

It was midday by the time Arthur bustled towards the door. Either Japan was being attacked by dogs right now, or he had a very insistent postman on his hands. The stove was smoking from where he tried to toast some bread and patches of soot dirtied his apron and face.

"Coming!" he grumbled, waving a spatula in his hands as he wrenched open the door.

It was not Japan, nor was it the postman.

"A - America?"

He could hardly believe what he was seeing. America was just about the last person, or country, he ever expected to turn up on his doorstep without a damn good reason for it. Even more so since America seemed to hate him so much for no explicable reason other than looking like someone he did not happen to like very much.

"Paperwork," America forwent all the pleasantries and shoved a large blue folder into Arthur's hands. It turned out he did have a reason for turning up after all.

Fighting back the urge to lecture him about ringing beforehand, Arthur managed a very intelligent; "…What?"

America leaned against the doorpost, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "Well I couldn't just tell my boss what really happened about you and England switching places or whatever so he still thinks you're the country and he sent some documents that he would like you to look up before the next Anglo-American meeting," he managed to explain without making eye contact once.

"I see," he said, without having a clue what was going on. "And when is this meeting?"

"Next month."

"Next month?" Arthur almost squawked. "That's ages away!" Did America seriously assume that he would be sticking around for a whole month?

America shrugged. "Yeah, but England always used to start on things really early. Probably didn't have anything else to do, so…"

Arthur shuffled the papers awkwardly in his hands, careful not to get soot on the precious typescript. "Well…err, thank you, I guess. I'll have Japan help me with them later."

"Are you an idiot? You can't ask Japan!" America suddenly jumped, startling Arthur and making him drop the spatula on the carpet. Well that would leave a stain…

"W - What? Why not?" he stuttered, bending over to pick up the spatula again. When he rose, America had his hands braced against both sides of the door frame, scowling.

"Oh geez, you really don't know anything do you?" he rolled his eyes. "Look, I'll explain it in small words so even you can understand. This folder…is for…the Anglo-American meeting. Anglo-American! Japan's cool and all but you don't share intel to a third party. Then they'll know everything!" he said with an infuriatingly patronising tone that Arthur felt the urge to slap him with his spatula.

"Like what? How you plan on make chewing gum that tastes like roast beef," he snorted, quickly flicking through the bullet points of the first page.

"That was my point and it's a good one! It will help lower obesity levels!" America snapped, seriously offended.

"Combating global warming by building a giant shield?"

"Look, shut up!"

"What's this stuff that's been partially blacked out?" he asked. "Military defence operations? Your government plans to station twelve thousand troops - "

America clamped a hand around his mouth. It was the first time America had really touched him, and although Arthur was sure that he should feel more annoyed about it, he was too stunned.

"Idiot, don't read Top Secret stuff out loud! What if your neighbours hear?" America hissed.

Arthur batted his hand away. "What? This is a detached house and my garden itself an acre wide."

"Yeah, well you might have hobos living on your land. Have you ever thought about that?" America asked as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "For god's sake. I didn't think you could be this stupid."

Arthur flinched. There it was again. Why did he always insist on insulting him? Even when there was no need, America always managed to slip in a rude comment somewhere. It was almost as if he went out of his way to be unnecessarily spiteful.

Alfred used to tease him too, back when they were still drifting somewhere between the lines of acquaintance and rivals. This was different though. With Alfred there had always been a sense of respect, a sense of knowing how far one could push and when to stop and the line between one and the other.

There was no line with America. He was like a child who, once stung, went around squashing innocent wasps before they could get him.

"Well, thank you very much. If you're quite done insulting me, I would like to get back to my tea," Arthur replied tersely, planning to leave him on the doorstep where he was.

No such luck. Without waiting for an invitation, America followed

"You like that stuff too, huh?"

"Of course! I don't feel right unless I have a cup of tea in the morning," he muttered, realising that asking America to leave would be no good and would probably just earn him a few extra insults for his trouble. Besides, he still could not shake that shadow of Alfred from his mind, no matter how determined he was to see America for who he was. He still felt something comforting in his presence. If only he would keep quiet.

They made it to the kitchen without incident. Most of the smoke had disappeared through the back door, which Arthur had left open to air the room. He quickly drew out two cups - it was courtesy after all - and the tea bags from the cupboard.

"Earl grey with two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk in the morning, black in the evening and camomile in the afternoon if you're feeling stressed out," America took a seat at the table looking out onto the garden.

Arthur looked up in surprise as he was about to add the second teaspoon to his earl grey. "How did you - "

"He drinks the same boring stuff as well," America muttered, eyes keenly trained on the lace trim of the curtain. "Well, since you've got no taste buds I guess it doesn't matter, but it makes me feel sick whenever I see you drink that stuff."

Placing the second cup of tea in front of America's seat, Arthur grimaced. "Then perhaps you should leave. I'm going to have some tea now."

America scowled at the tea but did not move. Sighing, Arthur took the seat opposite him and leaned back, slowly sipping his tea with relish. He breathed deeply, almost closing his eyes. Ah, blessed tea! It had the same heavenly taste no matter what the world.

The silence lasted only a minute before America felt the urge to open his mouth again.

"…You're really boring, you know?"

Arthur almost spat out his precious Earl grey. Shocked out of his pleasant reverie, his wiped any stray drop from his lips, grumbling; "Oh I'm sorry, would you like me to spin plates on my fingers whilst singing Oh Danny boy?"

America said nothing and they fell into silence once more, though Arthur now found it impossible to return to enjoying is drink. He half-expected America to say something again, but he did not, and the minutes ticked by in silence.

Arthur wanted to say 'well this is awkward', only it was too awkward to mention that it was awkward. He did notice however, that America was intently staying at his hands on the table, and had been doing so for the past five minutes of silence, his tea untouched.

After a while Arthur thought that he would be heroic and say something that, hopefully, would not be scoffed at.

"Aren't you worried?" he asked. "I mean, what if I'm stuck here and England won't ever come back?"

"Well then your country's screwed, isn't it?" His bluntness was cruel.

"Don't you care?"

"It's all the same to me."

Arthur put his teacup down on the saucer. There was no way he could enjoy tea this way. "I feel sorry for England…because, if he's anything like me, then I'm sure he loves you very much."

He almost did not notice the wince that passed across America's face when he mentioned love, but he managed to catch it. Barely.

"No, England hates me," America shrugged, eyes still kept firmly on the tablecloth. "…I don't really care though. I'm too awesome for him to do anything to, you know?"

"I'm sure," he rolled his eyes.

"What's he like?" America asked.

"Who?"

"That…Alfred."

rthur was almost speechless. It was the last thing he had ever expected America to ask. Of course, he was curious about England and what had happened between America and England to cause such a rift, but he could hardly come out and ask it so bluntly the way America had. Part of him wanted to bait him with a 'Oh, are you curious?' but he decided that that was too risky.

He sighed and leaned back, trying to think about Alfred and everything that had happened between them. It was not hard but, being so far away and with no assurances of ever returning, it stung a little to remember. He hoped that Alfred was safe.

"He's an idiot," he decided to start with the most truthful part. America's eyes jumped up for a moment to cast him a surprised glance.

"But he's a nice idiot," he continued. "He's the type of guy who will probably get run over by a truck while trying to save a kid stuck in the middle of the road or crack his skull open falling from a tree after trying to rescue a kitten. You know, always doing little stupid heroic things like that. I'm not saying that he's perfect, or even that you should try to be more like him," Arthur assured him. Although, he thought, it would not kill him to be a .little bit nicer, surely. "He's greedy and childish and when he wants something really badly he'll stop at nothing to get it but…he's…"

America looked down.

Arthur smiled. "…dazzling, I suppose. I don't really know how to put it. Like the very first time you notice how blue the sky is, or that feeling when you were young and tried to catch the tails of clouds. I suppose…to me…Alfred feels like that."

America still said nothing. In the silence Arthur blushed, realising what he had just said. He wondered if he had been a little too sentimental, too cheesy. He did not snort at him or laugh though, that had been something.

"Thanks for the donuts by the way," Arthur said and blushed immediately afterwards. He felt stupid and awkward saying these things.

"I said I was going to throw them away, didn't I? It was practically like giving it to trash."

Arthur had to turn his head to make sure that the hurt was not visible on his face. He did not know why, even now, America could still cut though him so keenly. Like a knife to the heart…but he did not feel like crying. He had done all that last night while Japan was absent. Speaking of Japan…

"So how did you two meet?" America asked as though he had not just insulted him terribly. As if nothing, in fact, had happened.

"H - Huh? …Oh. Well that's a long story," Arthur replied lamely. He could not keep up with this constantly switching subject.

America propped his elbows on the lace cloth. "Don't worry. I'm bored. Why else would I be around here?"

"I thought it was because of work," he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, that too."

Arthur put the blue folder on the spare seat out of the way. He felt tentative about starting another story, especially since he was not sure how America would react to it. Well, there would certainly be a lot of insults and derision, but he had already reached the half-way bar of how many insults he could take per day before losing it.

Gulping back his misgivings with the rest of his tea, Arthur shrugged. He might as well do something until Japan returned.

"Well, we the first time we met was at an open day, but that was only briefly and it didn't go too well actually. The next time was when he started attending the same university as I did. We both majored in the sciences by the way," he explained.

"Really? I thought you'd be more of an literature person," America made the first comment of that day, other than his observation about how he took his tea, that was neither an insult nor laced with boredom.

"I prefer to keep leisure and work separate," Arthur simply replied. "Anyway, because we were doing roughly the same subject I'd always run into him during the day.

After our…less than spectacular first meeting, he took every opportunity to harass me. It wasn't even tasteful tormenting! He'd do childish things like try to steal my text books or put gum in my hair. He'd even sneak into my lectures and poke me from behind or sit next to me in the cafeteria and steal my sandwiches when I wasn't looking…"

He laughed a little at the memory, but his laughter died when he noticed America's reaction. He was not looking at him anymore - he was back to staring at the tablecloth again - but Arthur could tell that America was listening to every word.

XX

England was sure that Alfred would be the first one to break the kiss, but the moment he felt his tongue slide into his mouth he managed to angrily wrench himself away, gasping with shock.

"T - This is a - a bad joke, isn't it? D - Don't try to toy with me, you bastard!" he yelled.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Alfred's face was completely serious.

England said nothing, he just continued to stare at him as though he were a madman, which surely he must be to have kissed him.

A moment later, Alfred's expression softened. "Arthur," he looked at him imploringly.

"England," he corrected.

Alfred shook his head, taking one cautious step towards him the way one would approach a feral animal. "England then, whatever," he stretched out a hand, beckoning England to take it, which he did not. "I love you. I mean it. I'm not toying with you."

There was something so sincere, so desperate in his tone that England would have caved in. Would have. But a hundred years of memories were not so easily defeated by a loving tone and an imploring gesture.

"What's wrong?" Alfred frowned when he noticed that England was not moving toward him.

"What's wrong?" England hissed from his very comfortable place standing five steps away from Alfred. "How can I trust a single thing you say to me? If you're anything like him I know you'll say one thing and then take it back when your feelings change!"

"But my feelings won't change!" he insisted.

"How do you know?" England snapped. "Are you psychic? Can you see into the future? Because if you can I'd love it if you could tell me how the hell I get out of here!"

Alfred opened his mouth to protest but must have though better of it for he ended with a sigh, running his hand though his messy bed hair. "Okay," he conceded, "you're right. I'm not psychic. I can't guarantee what will happen in the future, but you know what? I don't care about that. What I care about is what's going on right now and about the person in front of me at this very moment."

England shook his head as if to say 'I don't believe this' but found himself out of hurtful things to snap at him with.

Taking this as a good omen, Alfred managed to gain one step of distance without England backing away just yet. Even the darkness could not camouflage the expressions that flashed across their faces, though it obscured everything else; the unicorn plush, the arms of the recliners, a plastic toy dinosaur standing on the mantel piece between the more refined porcelain figurines.

Alfred's expression was one of hope and fear, gently covered by the all-forgiving blanket of love. England stared at that face so like, and yet so unlike, the person that he knew. It was not until he touched England's elbow did he realise that he had somehow managed to cover the distance between them.

"When we started going out, I couldn't tell you that, years from now, we'd be caught up in an accident and that you'd forget about me," Alfred whispered.

"I don't have amnesia!" England hissed back.

"And you'd come to hate me," he continued, ignoring him.

"I don't…hate you," England turned his face away from Alfred's, which was really getting too close. "I don't think anything of you." No, it was not Alfred that he hated.

"But you don't love me," though he spoke calmly, England noticed him wince as he said those words. He knew it hurt to put those thoughts into words, making it true, making it concrete. Irrefutable.

"I love you. But even if I knew that this would happen back then and that, maybe, you will never love me again, I'd still want to be with you because it was worth it, you know? We had fun. I fell in love. You did too, I'm sure. So it was worth it."

"You could have saved yourself a lot of pain."

"I know," Alfred's smile was terrible. Like a blow to the gut. "But the walls you build to keep out pain also keep out happiness as well…or something like that!" he chuckled lightly to try and disperse the tension that had been building between them.

"Then I guess I'm just a coward!" England snapped, turning away from him.

Of course he was a coward. Hadn't he known that all along? In the game of love the one who is loved wins and the one who loves is the loser. There was no way England's pride would allow him to lose but, more than that, there was no way he could bring himself to trust America, or Alfred for that matter, with something as delicate as his heart.

How the mighty have fallen. Look how weak he had become. Afraid of even that much. He disgusted himself as well.

"England?" Alfred slid his hands over his shoulders before England managed to swat them away.

"Y - You can share the bed with me," he grudgingly conceded, "but if you so much as try do anything funny, I'll break your fingers!"

"I'll keep my hands to myself. Hero's word," Alfred raised his hands up innocently, laughing. The sound of his laughter, genuine laughter, bore a hole through England's chest. How long had it been since he had heard that sound?

The shuffled awkwardly into bed on either side. Alfred had been right; it was big enough so both of them to sleep quite comfortably without the least risk of accidentally brushing each other.

Yet England felt even more awkward than he had when he was sleeping alone. Maybe sometime during the night he would be able to get up and sleep on the couch. Alfred, content that they were at least sharing a bed again, fell asleep rather quickly, leaving him only to his thoughts.

England stared up at the patterns on the ceiling trying not to move around too much. So it was worth it to get hurt in the long run for present happiness? That sounded like a bad investment to him.

Then again, when was the last time he had really been happy? He had kept himself holed away on his little island, in his little house, batting away the hands stretched out to him so that those hands would never be given the chance to push him away.

Was it the same with America? After the revolution things had been rocky but they could have patched things up had England not been so intent on making sure that he would never be betrayed again. After that alliances became shallow things.

"But I don't love America," he whispered to himself, and had to repeat the words over and over in his head just to be sure.

After his thoughts were settled, England thought that it was high time to get out of bed and back on the couch. That, however was proved impossible by Alfred who, as if interpreting his thoughts even in his sleep, suddenly rolled over and wrapped his arms around him.

England's face went from normal to bright red in less than a second. Alfred pulled him closer, nuzzling his head into the crook of England's neck.

"Arthur," he heard him murmur in his sleep, smiling slightly. He must be dreaming of good things.

England tried to wriggle free but it was impossible without waking him. He groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow.

"Some hero you are," he muttered.

* * *

XX


	6. Chapter 6

XX

* * *

**Here I am 06**

XX

Arthur was not sure what to make of his current circumstance. He was not sure exactly how things occurred, it all had just seemed to naturally collapse into the situation he currently had on his hands.

He knew America's excuse. Since Japan was staying with him in England's house for an indefinite period, America's only chance to see him other than at meetings was to come to the house for game nights of movie nights, or whatever it was that they did together. It seemed even America's adverse reaction to him was not enough to keep him away once games-withdrawal set in.

Thus it was with declining patience and growing annoyance that Arthur surveyed the mess in the living room as America ploughed in with an armful of snacks, DVDs and games, making a mess of the room he had not even been invited into. It might not have been Arthur's house technically, but he despised excess mess of all kinds.

He had tried to do his best to prevent America from turning the room into the aftermath of a war zone but there was nothing to be done. He was not even invited to join in – not that he would have wanted to anyway – and so the evenings ended with Japan's apologetic looks as he retired upstairs to the sound of gunfire and exploding spacecrafts blasting from the TV.

Before he knew it, it had already been a week. A week without gaining any ground on how to get home, and without getting any closer to America.

No, that was not quite true. They talked more and snapped at each other less, although that was only when Arthur was retelling some story about his time with Alfred. For some reason, America would only listen patiently to those stories.

It was half-way through the second week when Arthur was beginning to seriously consider never going back. He dreaded the thought, he did not even want to imagine it, but as the days passed his fear grew greater and greater. What is he was truly stuck here in this world? With these people? Not that he disliked Japan, but America was…well, he did not dislike America, but it was hard sometimes. Very hard.

"Dinner is ready, you two," Japan poked his head into the room where both Arthur and America had been lazily watching in the sports channel to fill up the voids their lack of conversation would create.

America eagerly rose to his feet, Arthur trailing behind less enthusiastically.

Light bathed the kitchen table, the warmth of spring sunlight pleasantly framing the room when they sat down to eat.

"Since you can't cook for shit, I'm guessing I – I mean, Alfred – did all the cooking in your world," America could not begin eating without his customary insult at Arthur. It did not matter what it was, whether it be his looks, his manners or his culinary skills, it was as customary as Japan's 'thanks for the food' as Japan picked up his chopsticks and dug in.

Arthur stiffened. His scowl deepened. "For your information I…it's not like that! Alfred just happens to like cooking!"

America snorted, causing Arthur's hackles to rise whilst Japan remained tactfully silent.

"It's not like he's any better than me. He put potatoes in the microwave once and they exploded! Almost broke the whole microwave!" he cried, forgetting his normally impeccable manners for a moment to wave his spoon around in the air.

"But I bet the remains were edible at least," America murmured just loud enough for Arthur to hear.

His mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. Humiliated that he could find no comeback other than to mutter 'twat', he dug his spoon into the prepared food, eating slowly with a sour expression on his face.

"Did he cook for you during university?" America asked, also digging into his food.

"Why do you want to know?" Arthur spat and immediately wished he had not said anything, for the look on America's face instantly became so cold and so closed off that it almost scared him.

"I don't," he muttered sullenly and turned all his concentration on to the food.

They ate in complete silence, Arthur swallowing his food around the lump of guilt that had formed in his throat.

"Ah, that reminds me Arthur-san," Japan suddenly spoke as they neared the end of their uncomfortably silent meal. America had been shovelling food into his gaping mouth and Arthur too had been eating quickly, hoping to excuse himself as soon as possible.

They both turned faces curious and thankful for the distraction towards Japan.

"I'm out rice. Could you get some for me?"

America's fork clattered against the china plate. "I'll go, Japan. This idiot probably doesn't even know where the shops are."

"I do!" Arthur snapped. He had been in this world long enough to know the local neighbourhood at least. He was not going to get lost on a simple errand to a corner shop. "Besides I need some fresh air," he added, folding his arms stubbornly.

"Why don't you both go then?" Japan suggested.

Perhaps he had not known, from their speechlessness, how insane his suggestion had been, perhaps he had. Arthur was inclined to believe the latter; Japan was a master of reading the atmosphere after all, though he did not want to believe that Japan had a single conniving bone in his body. Maybe he was going to have to reassess that opinion after all.

Before either of them could protest, Japan rose to his feet, clearing away their empty plates. "I'm glad that you two are starting to spend more time together. That makes me glad," he said, and neither of them could bring themselves to argue.

XX

"I can't believe I'm stuck with you. This sucks!" America shoves his hands in his jacket; keeping his pace at least three step in front of Arthur at all times. God forbid if anyone thought that they were together.

"I'm no longer surprised when you say stuff like that to me," Arthur muttered, trailing behind. "Besides, Alfred hated shopping too unless it was online shopping. Must be a shared trait."

"You never went shopping with him?" America glanced back.

"Of course I did! I managed to drag him out, away from the idiot box, sometimes! Though it usually wouldn't be worth the bother. He would get restless and try to annoy me in the supermarkets or run down the aisles on the trolleys like a little kid. Almost got us kicked out once."

America huffed, rolling his tense shoulders back. "You're just too stuffy. That's why you can't appreciate stuff like that."

Arthur scowled at America's back as they came to a crossing and stood side by side, although America was pointedly avoiding his gaze again. "Don't take his side!" he snapped.

"Who else is going to defend him when he's not here? That's what you and England have in common. You always have to be right," he muttered.

"I - " Arthur opened his mouth, taking a firm step out into the road in order to move away from America.

He noticed the way America stepped forward to follow him, he noticed the way his obstinate frown slowly came undone and the slightly chilly wind that brushed over the collar of his coat.

What he did not notice was the car driving racing towards him as he stepped out, not until he heard America's shout of "Look out!" and turned to see headlights almost right in front of him. The car honked loudly, as if that would get him to move on time, but Arthur's body had completely frozen. He heard tyres screech and an angry yell telling him to get out of the way before – before…

"…Alfred?"

Arthur looked up, shocked at the sudden change in temperature from the slightly cold weather outside to the warmth of the kitchen inside. He could smell tomato sauce and coffee and the hint of iron from tuna paste.

"Hmm?" Alfred turned. He was wearing the red, white and blue plastic apron he had bought him to stop his clothes getting messy every time he insisted on cooking. It was his Alfred. This was his kitchen – their kitchen – Arthur's heart was going to burst with joy.

"Alfred!" he rushed forward, ready to fling his arms around Alfred's neck, to cry with happiness. He was home! Finally, he was -

"Are you okay?"

Arthur blinked once and found himself standing on the other side of the road, watching the swerving car speed away as the driver swore loudly about people who could not read the traffic lights. America grabbed his shoulder, shaking him and shouting something that did not quite register in his dazed mind.

"Alfred?" Arthur glanced at him hopefully. Slow realisation made his face fall. He was back here, in this world that he did not belong in, and he was not looking at his Alfred anymore. "…America," he sighed. It was all a vision then? The way one's life flashed before your eyes before death? Somehow, it did not quite feel like that however.

He wished that he had better control of his expression, he wished that he had not looked so disappointed to realise where he was because, as soon as he sighed, America concerned expression drew back and became cold.

He let go of Arthur's shoulder.

"This is why you shouldn't go out. You can't even look after yourself! I'll get the rice. You go back home," he grumbled, as if Arthur was some incompetent child slowing him down.

Arthur realised his mistake too late. "Wait, America, I'm sorry," he attempted to apologise as America angrily turned his back to him.

"Well it's not like I could let you die. England would have survived being hit by a car but you're just a human, remember. Don't get arrogant!"

As much as he wanted to snap that it was not his plan to almost get run over, Arthur was too keen of America's hurt – though why should he feel hurt when he hated him so much? – to say anything unkind.

"…Thank you, America," he whispered, hardly daring to raise his voice.

America shrugged.

They stood a moment in silence, America firmly keeping his back to him.

"Um…America?"

"Huh? Oh, you're still here?"

Arthur winced. What could he say?

"…I'll…I'll leave it to you."

He almost ran all the way back.

XX

"England!" Alfred's too-loud, too-cheerful voice invaded England's thoughts. That fool had been ridiculously happy ever since they agreed to share a bed, though nothing had happened thank God. He should have known better than to get some peace and quiet. Even after Francis had finally been persuaded to leave Alfred made enough noise for the both of them.

"England, I called your workplace for you. They said that you should rest for now and come in once you're feeling better."

"Work?" England raised his head from his newspaper. Now that he thought about it, he did not know anything about the Arthur from this world, least of all what he did for a living.

Alfred nodded enthusiastically. "At the school, remember?"

At the sight England's blank face Alfred heaved his shoulders and sighed. "I've got a few weeks off too so I can take care of you."

"I don't need a babysitter!" he snapped.

"I'm going to make lunch. What do you want?"

He shrugged.

"I love you."

At that England finally jumped up from the couch. It was as if those words were needles, pricking his skin every moment a fatal 'I love you' was said. It hurt.

"You keep saying that. You sound like a parrot. A stupid one!" he retorted. He was frustrated. It had been a week. A whole week and not only was he not back in his house pleasantly embroidering and spending time with the fairies but, for all his spiteful words, he had not deterred Alfred from his foolish endeavours either.

"I keep saying that because it's true," Alfred replied with frustrating calm.

"So?" he scowled. "I keep telling you to leave me alone! Do you think that if you keep flinging love at someone that they'll just…"

He trailed away.

"England?" Alfred looked concerned at his sudden silence.

"I – I – It's nothing. I'm going to take a shower," he pushed away from him, heading towards the bathroom on shaky legs.

England was grateful for the hot water scorching his skin, burning into the scars from the various wars he had fought in. He wanted to think; something that he had not had much time to do lately what with annoyingly Alfred being so clingy all the time.

He wanted to think about the past, his past, and his life up until this moment, his way of living, the decisions he had taken, choices he had made and…

"America…"

It was true, was it not? He had even said it himself to Alfred out of anger. Even if you loved someone so much, those feelings might not necessarily touch them. He had wanted America to stay with him so much, but those feelings had not even made a beep on the map of America's consciousness.

What was the point of loving them then? Why did Alfred keep on loving him, or Arthur, when it failed to touch him? He could dismiss it as idiocy but he did not want to.

"I loved America when he was little," England told himself as water steamed over his head. "And now I…" he fell silent. He could not put it into words the way Alfred had said 'you don't love me.' To put it into words was to make it true and, really, what did he think about America?

"…Coward."

Alfred was in the kitchen humming to himself, making what looked like the beginning of tuna pasta, as England walked in, fully dressed in clean clothes after a thoroughly unsatisfactory shower. Alfred was wearing some ridiculous red, white and blue apron, though it was already covered with tomato stains and pits of tuna.

England shuffled in, not really sure what to say. He noticed a spoon rolling near his feet and frowned. Alfred always made such a mess! He took a step through the doorway, crouching down to pick it up…

…and heard the blaring honk of a car horn. England almost had a heart attack. It was right in front of him and it was too late to try to move even were he not a little disorientated. Where was he? What was going on? He heard a shout and turned to see America lunging for him. He could hardly believe the frantic, concerned look on his face. No, this must be a dream. There was no way America would look at him like that. Well, if it was a dream then it was fine to be run over. Maybe it would be a good thing; it was not like it could kill him after all, maybe just knock a little sense back in. The car, however, swerved and only just caught him on the side, sending him tumbling…

…onto the kitchen floor. He heard the clatter of spoons being dropped and Alfred's padded footsteps as he rushed to his aid.

"E – England? England!" he felt strong arms lifting him up. "H – Hey? Are you okay? What's wrong? England?" The car had clipped his shoulder. It was dislocated, dangling loosely by his side. It was not too painful but England still felt a little disorientated that it took a while to come back to his senses.

"I'm fine. Don't shout in my ear, you twat," he groaned once he had recovered enough, pushing his arm back in place. He winced with pain as it popped back in. It hurt, but it was not as painful as some of the things he had been through before. The Battle of Hastings, when horses had trampled over his body and shattered his ribs, now that had hurt, or the Blitz when it felt like his heart was going to physically explode. Compared to that, a dislocated shoulder was nothing.

Alfred, wincing at the loud pop, put his hand tentatively on his shoulder. He probably assumed that England had hit his shoulder against one of the work surfaces on his way down, resulting in the injury.

"Are you alright? Are you feeling dizzy? Is it a fever?"

"I'm fine, " he insisted.

Alfred's concerned face melted into one of overwhelming relief. "Thank goodness!" he hugged him tightly yet tenderly. It was the tenderness that made England wince.

"Why do you love me so much?" he whispered, almost desperate, almost pleading, begging him not to be kind, to not love him. Every time he was kind to him it hurt, but of course it was not really him that Alfred was kind to, was it? Don't be kind to me, he wanted to say. Don't smile like that because it's not me that you're looking at. It was not England that he was looking at, it was Arthur.

And how could England forgive him for that on top of everything? Not only did he unknowingly flaunt his oh-so-perfect relationship with Arthur in front of him at very moment, at every second of every day, he treated him so kindly, like something precious to be treasured above even life itself. He was making fun of him, right?

Surely Alfred knew what was going on and was taunting him for his ruined relationship with America, pointing out how incompetent England was when he could not make the relationship that worked so well between Alfred and Arthur work even on a cordial level between himself and America. It was humiliating. It hurt. How could England forgive him for that?

"E – Engl…" Alfred slowly unwrapped his arms to look at England's crying face.

God, he hated this. England raised his arms to hide his tears but it was useless now that they had been spotted. He hated this so much. He just wanted to go home now. He just wanted to go home, away from this kind of torture.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

XX

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**Here I am 07**

XX

Arthur was ready to kick himself were he not busy using his feet to burst through the door.

"Ah, back already?" Japan peeked his head out of the living room where he had been cleaning away America's mess. "Do you have…the rice?" he trailed away as Arthur barrelled past him and flung himself onto the couch.

Japan stared at him for a moment, bewildered, but quickly assumed what that they must have had a fight somehow. A look of sadness and sympathy softened his gaze. Silently, he retreated into the kitchen to give Arthur some privacy with his thoughts; the cleaning could wait for a few more hours.

It was less than an hour, however, before America burst in as well, shouting "I'm back!" at the top of his lungs to announce his presence.

His expression soured when he saw Arthur sitting on the couch. Even as Arthur tried to send him an apologetic look, he rejected it by wrenching his gaze away. Turning his face away from him, he handed the bag of rice to Japan. "I'm going home now. I wanna get some sleep actually. I'll see you tomorrow, Japan."

"Wait America!" Arthur jumped to his feet. He did not know why he should feel so anxious to keep his relations with America turning any frostier but something in his gut, instinct almost, could not be satisfied until he had repaired some of the damage he had unwittingly done. "T – There are enough guest rooms, you know. Stay here," he looked almost imploringly, while America looked cruelly untouched.

"America-san, we still have to clear the final ending of that game. Can you not handle another all-nighter?" Japan gently coaxed him.

America blushed. He was never one who could resist backing down from a challenge. "O – Of course I can…" he hesitated, eyes flickering toward Arthur before eventually conceding. "Alright, of course," he agreed.

"Good. Then I shall make some tea," Japan bowed and shuffled out of the living room.

Before the silence could grow, America flung himself down on the other end of the couch and quickly flicked on the TV. The channel was playing reruns of some trashy gossip show.

"Um, America," Arthur waited before speaking. He was keenly aware that America was angry at him, or at least annoyed.

Though why should he be annoyed? If he hated England, and thus by default Arthur himself, so much, then he should not care the slightest what Arthur thought. Why did it matter so much to America?

"Was there something you needed?" he asked coldly.

Arthur stiffened. Perhaps it was because he knew that America was a country, a very large one at that, that slightly intimidated him whenever America looked at him with angry eyes. He would go for it, however. He would have his voice heard.

Snatching the remote from America's limp grip, he turned off the TV. That itself was a rather daring task.

"You know, Alfred used to watch those stupid shows when he didn't have work."

"I don't care. Do you mind? I was watching that!"

Arthur ignored him.

"Once we got into a big, stupid argument about it. I told him that those kind of shows would rot his brain but he insisted that whatever happened to his brain was none of my business. We didn't speak for a week."

"So?" America shifted, starting to look impatient, and perhaps frustrated, with him. Arthur was sure that he was capable of breaking a man's – a human man's – bones with his bare hands but bravely soldiered on.

"So what?"

"Why are you telling me this? I didn't ask for your stupid stories. I don't care," America shrugged.

Arthur shook his head, pretending not to understand.

"Alfred, like the idiot he is, eventually forgot why we were fighting in the first place, and when he's not mad it's hard to stay mad at him so we just…sort of started talking again. I bet he really wanted to apologise for it though. I did too. It just seemed more natural to let it slide than to dig it up again."

America said nothing. Judging from his expression he was still being petulant. Arthur found it strange but the sight made him want to laugh; it was like America was a child in an adult's body, and there was something strangely endearing about that comparison. His shoulders relaxed and he suddenly felt less tense.

"He used to do a lot of horrible things to me at university though," he added, "but he also did a lot of nice things too. He would be the one to carry me back when I was drunk and he was the one who always put in a good word for me whenever one of the professors didn't believe in me."

America was listening intently now. Although he tried not to show it, he was hanging on to Arthur's every word.

"I remember once we went to the Isle of Mann. It was a university trip to study the ecology there. You would think that it's a pretty boring place. I mean, it's just a bunch of rocky turf and hills and sheep and outdated towns, right? I wasn't really looking forward to the trip myself and when I was paired with Alfred I thought; 'Oh no, I bet he's going to push me off a cliff or put a crab down my back or something' It was the worst thing that could happen to me.

"But he was nice. I was surprised that I actually had fun. The sea was suddenly amazing, the way it crashed against the rocks blew me away, and the coast was beautiful. I couldn't understand why he was so nice to me but I started to think that I always wanted him to be nice to me."

He smiled at the memory, blushing slightly and feeling a little stupid for voicing such a story. Maybe he was truly tuning into a sentimental fool.

"I suppose, well I guess, I fell in love then. Not much of a story is it?"

"It's kinda lame," America agreed, frowning.

"I suppose so," he laughed nervously to hide the hurt he felt. He hoped that America too would be touched by the story but his feelings had failed to reach him.

"I bet Alfred was in love with you from the start," America suddenly said just as they were about to lapse into silence once more.

"Huh?" Arthur looked at him curiously.

America rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's so obvious! He obviously liked you way before that field trip. Though you might not have noticed…'cause you're an idiot."

"You think so?"

"But he's an idiot too," America nodded. "If it were me I wouldn't have held anything back. I would just say it as soon as I realised I was in love…if I were him, I mean," he added, quickly glancing at Arthur before looking away.

"If you were him," Arthur repeated, testing the sound of it on his tongue.

"It's not so simple for countries. You two got it easy," America snorted.

"Maybe." He had not thought about that, but he supposed that politics must get in the way a lot.

America sunk further into the couch, staring at the wall behind the TV. "I mean, I could have done it too if it were me. If I were human," he added.

Everything else drifted away in silence, but Arthur was sure that he knew what America was thinking.

"You know, just because you're nations doesn't mean you can't start all over again."

America flashed him a dark look. "I wouldn't want to," he snapped, which only meant to Arthur that he had surely hit a sore spot.

And everything seemed to click into place for Arthur. The reason why America was sullen and rude, the reason why he became snappish whenever the subject of England came too close and, most importantly, the reason why this impatient, restless person still listened to Arthur's stories with patience; it was a window into a world that America could never take part in.

While England and America declared war, made peace, formed treaties that would last for hundreds of years, pushed the world to new horizons, drew up legislation that would change society for better or worse, no one would ever notice the things that Arthur and Alfred did.

Arthur's stories of shopping with Alfred, stories of cooking, about working, about getting frustrated when they both wanted to watch different things on TV, about their petty squabbles, their clumsy, romantic gestures, their friends, their studies, their jealousies, their wild, oblivious courting, everything. It was all so unimportant in the scheme of greater things.

No one would remember it, no one would write a novel or make a film about their lives, and yet it was their unimportant, trivial life that America listened to with such patience, that America listened to as if he could live it too.

And, suddenly, Arthur thought he could see glimmers of Alfred in the depths of America's eyes.

XX

England felt tears of frustration mar his vision for the umpteenth time. He had gathered herbs, a twig from the pot plant as a makeshift wand, drawn a circle with chalk, but no matter what he did his magic was not working either.

"Maybe I just need better supplies…"

"England, what are you doing in the closet?"

The door suddenly opened, bringing with it a shaft of light and Alfred's curious face.

"N – Nothing!" England jumped back, busily sweeping off the chalk with a foot.

Alfred looked unconvinced but decided not to comment. "Would you like to go somewhere tonight?" he asked, offering him that same, hopeful look that made England feel both annoyed and guilty. "I just figured that you wouldn't like to be cooped up all the time. How about we eat out?"

"It's not fast food, is it?" England looked sceptical.

"N – No! We'll go to a proper restaurant!"

"Do you even know your table manners?"

"I do! I won't embarrass you, England!" America insisted, blushing slightly.

England sighed. It was all terribly bothersome and, really, he just wanted to stay in the closet and experiment some more but another, bigger part of him was yearning for some fresh air and a chance to stretch his legs.

"Fine. I'm tired of your terrible cooking anyway," he reluctantly agreed.

Alfred looked as though Christmas had come early. If he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging at that very moment. "Wear a suit!" he cried, rushing out to get ready.

XX

England was not sure what to make of the suit – it was something he found hanging in Arthur's side of the wardrobe – that he had chosen. It was not as expensive as the suits he was used to but it was not too shabby either. He chose a tie – the one with midnight blue stripes – and quickly knotted it, looking himself over once more in the mirror.

"Ridiculous!" he muttered at his reflection. He looked just like he always did, but in a cheaper suit. Well, it was not like he was doing this to impress anyone. Just to prove this point to himself, he ran a hand through his hair and messed it up a little more.

"England, are you ready?" Alfred poked his head into the bedroom. "Wow, you look awesome!" he exclaimed, though something told England that Alfred would have said the same thing were he wearing a pink tutu.

It was Alfred, however, who was the awesome one. One glance told England that he had put countless thought into his appearance that evening. His suit was ironed, his tie straight, hair slicked back with a tiny bit of gel, even his glasses had been switched for ones with a smarter frame.

"W – Well I see you know how to do a tie," England stuttered lamely.

Despite the fact that it was hardly the best compliment one could give – if it could be considered a a compliment at all – Alfred looked delighted. "Shall we go?" he asked, beaming with pride.

England wondered if this was such a good idea after all.

XX

"So, err, England,"Alfred broke the silence with an awkward clearing of his throat, "aren't you curious to know anything. About the past, I mean. I'll tell you anything! Even the details of our sex - "

England spluttered, choking on his wine. "No thank you!"

Alfred's face dropped. Leaning forward with a look of utmost seriousness, he forced England to meet his gaze.

"England, how do you feel about me?"

"About you?" England squirmed. What did he think about him? As in, Alfred, not America? He hesitated before deciding to go with the honest answer.

"I think…that you're an alright person," he replied. He vaguely wondered at what point in his life he had to make a conscious decision to be honest. "I don't know too much about you obviously but I think that you're capable of being a good person."

"I am a good person!" Alfred insisted.

"Quite," England murmured, not quite convinced.

"D - Do you think that you could love me? One day, I mean. Be honest," Alfred looked at him earnestly, and, though he was trying to look otherwise, he seemed so nervous. Almost like a boy making his very first love confession.

England frowned. Could he love Alfred? He was kind and treated him tenderly and was cheerful even when he probably did not feel like being cheerful, but could he love Alfred?

Maybe. If he were not a country and Alfred a human, if Alfred was not already in love with Arthur, if they were not from separate worlds, if they had met earlier, if they had been together from the start, if they could stay together from now on. So many ifs…

"…Yes," England whispered. Yes, if all those things happened or had happened then yes, perhaps he could have loved him.

But those ifs were never going to happen.

"England!" that such happiness was possible England never knew, but Alfred was currently displaying it in his smile. It was almost blinding.

He knew that Alfred probably wanted to hug him, or even kiss him, but he pulled away, just out of reach. Alfred seemed to understand, and kindly changed the topic to other things. England was rather surprised that he was actually able to maintain a pleasant conversation with him, so much so that he hardly noticed the passing time until the restaurant was about to close.

And perhaps it was because he drank a little too much wine before leaving that England allowed Alfred to take his hand as they walked back. Trailing behind, his eyes trying to remain focused on his back, Alfred looked so much like America. But he did not want to think about that. He still hated America, didn't he?

And perhaps it was also the wine that, when they fumbled home and Alfred worked up the courage to ask; "Can I kiss you?" England was slow on snapping; "Of course not, you git!"

"…I – I don't think that you should," he added, slightly more sympathetically. Freeing himself from Alfred's grip.

"I want to," Alfred followed him through the living room.

He caught England's wrist and spun him round, backing him against the wall. The distance between their bodies closed and Alfred leaned in.

"Wait!" England's immediate reaction was to shove him away

"I – I'm sorry!" he jumped back, afraid that he had somehow hurt him. "It's just…please? I've been holding back for so long but…" his fingers latched on to the top button of England's shirt, "I don't know if I can hold back." He glanced apologetically at England before undoing the button. He obviously had had much practice before for the rest swiftly came undone whilst England was caught in the stupor of shock.

As he felt cold air hit his stomach, England jumped back into his senses. "Stop!" he pushed Alfred away with more violence than before. Alfred was strong, but he was still a human, and he managed to free himself fairly well.

"E – England?" Alfred backed away, looking both hurt and regretful. "I – I'm sorry. I don't know. It must be the wine getting to my head. I – I didn't mean to – I'm really sorry – I - "

"What?" England snapped when he noticed Alfred had stopped stuttering his apologies and was staring at him instead.

"Those scars…"

England froze. Of course Arthur would not have them the same scars England had won over numerous years of war and fighting.

Why would he? Alfred's gaze trailed up the small web of scars on his hip and the larger, criss-cross slashes on his chest. They were obviously old, fading over the years they had had to heal. "You didn't have those before and no one told me about then when we were allowed to leave the hospital."

"Alfred," England wondered what he should see. The conflicted look in Alfred's eyes was painfully clear. Would Alfred hate him now? Maybe he would stop treating him kindly, stop smiling at him. Of course he would, he would feel as though he had been betrayed.

It should be raining, England thought. It would be appropriate if it would rain right now.

"Wha – What…Who..?"

England could see it breaking.

And he was angry. What right did Alfred have to look so conflicted when he had done nothing wrong? He had tried to tell the idiot before, but Alfred had just never listened. How could anyone accuse him of betrayal?

"I told you before, didn't I?" he snapped, letting his anger replace any hurt or pain he might have felt. "I told you but you were too stupid to listen to me! I asked you to stop but you just carried on like some rutting animal in heat! Well, maybe you'll listen to me know!" he snarled. "I'm only going to say this one more time! I. Am. Not. Arthur!"

And the look of absolute, crushing, loss on Alfred's face just made him even angrier, although he could not say why. He did not wait around to assess his own feelings either. Before Alfred could react, England pushed past him, buttoning up his shirt as he stormed out of the apartment.

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	8. Chapter 8

XX

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**Here I am 08**

XX

America sat watching England – Arthur, he should say – attempting to cook. It seemed, not matter what he would, he would be doomed to forever fail to master the art of frying eggs. The smell was already starting to drift over to where he sat, but he was used to the noxious fumes by now.

Silently, though with a hard frown on his lips, America watched Arthur bustle around the kitchen, hoping that pepper would be able to disguise the burnt taste. He certainly had the same zeal as England - although it was often misdirected - the same passion, and the bossy attitude along with the looks.

But there were differences, differences that even America was not blind to, although he loathed to accept them. He had not noticed at first, when Arthur's eyes were clouded with confusion and a sense of loss. However, as the days passed and he seemed to reconcile with his current situation the differences began to bloom.

This Arthur was…he could not put his finger on it…lighter, somehow. He looked more 'in the moment.' He looked like he was living instead of merely existing, like what England would probably look like if you picked him up and shook out all the dust and those musty memories that he held so dear.

"Don't you miss him?" Arthur's voice sailed right over him, as if reading his thoughts. He was wearing a green apron – England's apron – and a spatula crusted with burnt egg white in his hand.

"Who?" America acted dumb.

"England."

"No."

And it was the truth, he thought. Since he and England hardly ever met except to argue what was there to miss?

Arthur sighed, his brows furrowing with that motherly, worried look that America remembered England wearing so often in his colonial days; that look that he had made England wear. He hated that look.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Arthur asked.

"W – Why? It's obvious!" America snapped. He hated that too; how Arthur's questions always seemed to hit straight into the spot that was sorest. How could he be so perceptive when his counterpart was a stubborn idiot?

"He's…grumpy and he never has anything nice to say to me, he can't cook, he always has to be right, he treats me like a child, he's infuriating, annoying, bossy, a perfectionist, a control-freak, old-fashioned, and he can never let anything go! Even just looking at his face annoys me!" he cried, ticking off his fingers for every crime England had ever committed against him. Even talking about it made him feel frustrated; he wished he could just wrap his hands around it and get rid of the problem.

"It's not lonely when he's not around?"

"We never hung out so how could I feel lonely?" he snorted.

"I suppose so," Arthur shrugged, looking a little sad and America wished he would stop making those faces. For some reason, he felt like wincing every time he saw them.

The eggs – if the black mass of crumbs could be called eggs – were finally done. America watched Arthur scoop them into a plate next some tomatoes and long slabs of carbon that had once been toast. He sat down opposite him and began to eat in silence. Judging from his expression, he was thinking rather deeply on something – probably Alfred, America thought with contempt.

"…Do you want another story?" Arthur asked, quite suddenly, without any real reason to ask. He smiled, but for some reason it seemed to him that it was a patronising smile; the kind of smile England would give him when he was trying to mock him.

"Shut up," America grumbled, turning his head away. He ignored the small part of him that was curious to know more, that wanted to hear as badly as an addict needed his next fix.

He thought that it was somewhat masochistic of him to want to keep hearing stories. He could never become Alfred and England could never be the person Arthur was, they could never have that kind of life so why did he like to listen to those meaningless stories? It was not as if he wanted that life anyway. He was fine as he was, wasn't he?

"Why don't you tell me a story?" Arthur suggested.

"Huh?"

"Tell me a story about yourself. I've been telling you all about myself but I don't know anything about you."

America rolled his eyes. This Arthur was just as boring as England, making up lame suggestions like that. "But that's boring!" he protested.

"Your life is boring?" Arthur asked.

"My life is awesome!"

"Then tell me about it, Mr Awesome," he smiled and America scowled, knowing that he had walked right into that one.

"Awww, fine! If you really wanna be such a busy-body…" he muttered. He had to think hard first before he began; he did not want Arthur to think that his life was as mundane as Arthur's. After a moment, he started telling a tale about himself and Japan, purposefully avoiding all mention of England.

It started off interesting enough; it was about something during the westernisation of Japan, something that Arthur would not have been alive to see. Arthur himself listened rather attentively, but after a while America could see his attention wavering he frowned. He frowned. And England always used to scold him for having bad manners!

"I wonder what Alfred's doing right now…" Arthur murmured, perhaps not quite realising what he had just said aloud.

America glared at him. He glared at him because he was resentful that Arthur had stopped listening to the story that he had insisted on hearing in the first place, resentful that the story that he was wasting his precious time telling to him did not seem to interest Arthur, resentful that Arthur was thinking about another Alfred when he was the one right there with him.

And it felt lonely.

XX

Alfred's legs were trembling, his mind had gone blank; so much so that, at first, he hardly noticed when England stormed out of the room. However, the moment the door slammed shut, the sound snapped him back to his senses. Forcing his legs to move, he sprinted out of the apartment, down several flights of stairs in an attempt to catch England before he left.

"Wait, England!" he managed to grab the other, the one who looked just like the Arthur he knew, by the elbow, and pull him back just as he was about to leave the apartment block.

England glared at him with such hatefulness that he almost let go. His mind was spinning. He thought about the scars, the amnesia, the coldness and hostility that he had to endure over the past few weeks. So this was not Arthur? But how could that be? They looked so alike, identical even.

"If you're not Arthur then where is he? What have you done with him?" he demanded, gripping England's shoulders.

England snarled and pushed back, freeing himself from his grip. He was a lot stronger than the Arthur that Alfred knew. "I haven't done anything, you wanker! I was just minding my own business was suddenly I was here!" he snapped.

Alfred was not sure what to make of this but he decided to take this as the truth until he found a reason for England to lie to him. Besides, he really did not look as if he were lying.

"So you don't know where he is?" he asked, distraught. What if Arthur had still been on that ship? What if he had not made it out? By now he would already be…

"Logically, I suppose that he must be where I was. We probably switched places," England said with a coldness that prevented Alfred from feeling any relief. What kind of horrible, twisted world did England come from to make him so resentful and bitter? Was that the world that Arthur was in now, stuck and unable to find a way back to him?

"So…so you are from a different world?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

It sounded so impossible.

"…How?"

England shrugged. "Hell if I know," he said, but he looked at Alfred as if he blamed him for this anyway.

Alfred shook his head, still waiting for the enormity of everything that was happening to properly sink in. "But you look just like him!"

"Yes. Haven't you heard of parallel universes? There's a Francis and a Feliciano in my world too," England explained.

"And me?"

"…Yes…unfortunately," he grumbled, swiftly turning his gaze away.

Alfred's mouth opened and closed in a comical imitation of a fish. So Arthur, his Arthur, was in a parallel world where who knew what kinds of crazy things happened, and there as a Feliciano and a Francis and even another himself.

"No!" he cried in abject horror, clutching his sides of his head in his hands. This was the worst possible, if craziest, news he had ever heard since the Beatles disbanded. "I don't believe this! If Arthur's with another me then that other me will fall in love with him and will try to do all sorts of things to him!"

England snorted. Alfred wondered why his laughter always sounded so bitter. "Unlikely. He hates me. Anyone who looks like me he'll hate by default."

That was definitely a lie. Alfred was not sure why he would lie, but that definitely could be true. It was something he knew instinctively, something in his bones, as if he could connect with every other Alfred in the universe; no matter what world or what circumstances they were under, there was no way that he would not fall in love with Arthur.

"He could never hate Arthur!"

"Why's that?" England looked completely unconvinced.

"Because Arthur's so cute!" he cried automatically and had to suffer England's great rolling of eyes, but he did not care, he was too worked up with images of this other him. "Damn it, he better not lay a hand on my Arthur!"

"Your Arthur…right…" he heard England mutter.

"England…" Alfred's expression softened. He realised, while he had been worried about Arthur and ranting about how he would defend him even from another parallel world, he had totally ignored England's plight. He was stuck too. He just wanted to go home too, didn't he?

"Well I don't care whatever happens to Arthur or what America does to Arthur - "

"I'm America? That's so cool!"

England's eyebrow visibly twitched. "I thought you were ready to hate the other you."

"I – I was!"Alfred felt a goofy grin on his face. So in that other world they were all countries and he was America? "I still won't allow it if he tries anything funny, but that's kinda cool don't you think?"

"Ugh, please, I think I'm going to be sick."

"What, you don't like him?"

"I hate him!" England snapped, eyes sparking with utter resentment.

Alfred stepped back sharply, almost as if England's anger would burn him. His gazed on upon England, this other Arthur, with sadness. He wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder and tell him it would be alright, to hug him and smooth down his hair as he did when Arthur was upset, but he could not bring himself to do that anymore, not when he knew that this was not the Arthur he loved.

Yet still he felt something for England. Sympathy perhaps. Yet still it hurt to hear England say such things and look so hurt, because it still felt as if Arthur was saying those things, because he could still see those traces of Arthur in England's eyes.

"So that's why you're so cold to me..." he murmured.

"Don't be an idiot! Even I can tell the difference between you two," England snapped. "I hate you for completely different reasons!"

"But I don't hate you," he whispered back.

"What?"

"I mean, it's obvious that you're just a victim too. I know, let's work together to correct the universes and put everything in their proper place!"

And England groaned but agreed to return to the apartment. He had nowhere else to go after all. Going to bed was awkward. Alfred did not insist on spending the night together but let England take the spare room again – he felt a little guilty about having forced England into a situation that, now that he knew the truth, had been uncomfortable for him. Besides, he did not want to be accused of cheating on Arthur.

Yet, at night, listening to the wind blow through the trees and the darkness grow thicker and thicker, Alfred could not help but imagine that other world. He wondered what he was like in that world. England had told him that he was America but what would his personality be? Was America more charming than him? More powerful? More dashing? He frowned and turned over restlessly.

"Arthur…don't you dare fall in love with him!" he hissed and tried to get some sleep.

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XX


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Some people are curious when this will end so I'm letting you all know that there are planned 14 chapter in all. So only five chapters left!

* * *

**Here I am 09**

XX

Arthur tossed and turned in his giant, four-poster bed. A single man should never have a bed so big. It felt too lonely. It even made the room feel darker at night. How could he sleep like this?

He had been thinking a lot about Alfred, about that time when he had seen him for just a second before America had pulled him back. It felt as if his life had flashed before his eyes. He had almost died and, that time on the ship, he had almost drowned.

Was that it? Did he have to put his life in danger to cross through the world again? Arthur gripped the sheets in his fists. What if he was wrong and it was something else entirely? The problem with his theory was that, if he was wrong, he would be dead.

But he wanted to see Alfred.

And this theory did make a lot of sense.

Was he suicidal now? Had he totally lost his wits? Arthur wondered if he should wait until the morning to discuss his thoughts with Japan – maybe a sane individual would tell him just how truly crazy he really was – but he had a feeling that Japan would only try to discourage him from it.

Forcing himself to his feet, Arthur quickly dressed and sneaked downstairs.

The house trembled with silence. Distantly, he could hear the whine of cars rushing to be home before dawn arrived. Pulling on his coat and slipping into his boots, Arthur hesitated at the door handle. Was this really a good idea? He glanced back at the dark and empty corridor.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Arthur left the house and plunged into the bitterness of the night.

XX

That was how Arthur found himself staring down at the murky waters from a bridge above a river, griping his gloved hand around the cold railing and trying to tell his nervous heart that he knew perfectly well what it was he was doing.

His theory was correct, wasn't it? He sincerely hoped that his theory was correct at least.

"There's nothing to it," he told himself, shivering from the cold and not because of any sort of fear. He hauled himself over the railing so that he was standing on the outside ledge and looked down. His eyes squeezed shut. Well, this was it.

"What are you doing?"

The sound of America's voice alone, nearly surprised him enough to make him lose his balance and fall. Fortunately, he managed to keep his grip on the railing and turn around to stare at America's sceptical, deeply unimpressed face.

"I…" Arthur faltered. His one thought holding him back from testing his theory – apart from his death if he was wrong – was that thought of leaving America behind. He did not know why he should be so attached to someone he liked to be cold and insult him and he did want to return to Alfred. He wanted to return so desperately.

However, a part of him felt ill at ease leaving America as he was. He felt like a mother sending her only son off into the world while knowing that he was still missing a vital something. Arthur was not sure what that vital thing was, but it pained him to be unable to watch over America when he was gone.

Shaking his head of such thoughts – America would surely think that he was being pitied if he knew – Arthur gulped. "I…I think that I've worked out how to go back, but I need to jump off of this bridge to do it," he explained.  
America stared at him.

Arthur blushed.

A moment of silence passed between them before America sighed aloud. Rubbing his gloved fingers together he grumbled; "It's freezing. Let's go back."

"But - "

"You do realise that if you're wrong then you'll just die," America looked at him as if he was an idiot, which was nothing new, Arthur supposed, though he wished that America would kick that annoying habit of patronising him at every turn.

"I know that, but - "

"Fine. Go ahead and die. Want me to push you?"

Arthur looked at him sharply.

"Alright then!"

America stumbled back with surprise. "W – What?"

"I'm ready. Push me!" Arthur cried, balancing on the ledge so that he could let go of the railings and spread his arms wide without falling. However, all he needed was a gust of wind, just a small push and he would topple into the river.

"I – I was just joking! God!" America spluttered, turning red with embarrassment. "You really want to see him that badly?"

"You know I can't stay here forever," he said.

"So you're saying that this Alfred is better than me?" America snapped.

"That's not what I'm saying."

"But you prefer him, right?"

"Well…"Arthur blushed and gripped the side of the railing again, "he is my…lover…"

The fact that America did not say anything in reply made Arthur feel even more self-conscious. He was also quite aware that he was still perched on the edge of the bridge, ready to fall off at any moment as soon as he let go of the guard rail.

"B – Besides, if I don't go then England will never be able to come back," he continued to stutter, flushing slightly.

"That's fine by me!" America snorted.

"England's probably with Alfred. I hope that idiot's not cheating on me!"

"With England? No way!" America looked both disgusted and incredulous. That such a thing could happen, that England might fall in love with Alfred was just as ridiculous as America falling in love with Arthur…wasn't it?

"Besides, I don't think that you should go. It's a bad idea. All of your ideas are bad ideas," he grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.

Arthur could not help but smile at America's petulance. He reminded him of a giant kid sometimes. "Don't worry. England will be coming back so you won't be lonely," he teased.

America scowled at him. "Like I said, I don't want England to - "

Before he could move away, Arthur leaned forward. Cupping the side of America's face in his hands, he planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.

"Bye," he whispered, and pushed back until he was falling down.  
America's eyes widened. Arthur started to fall.

"Wait!" he yelled. Without thinking, he jumped over the guard rail and flung himself in the air. Grabbing Arthur around his waist, they both plunged like a brick straight into icy – and probably quite dirty – river water.

Arthur felt the water rushing around him. His mouth opened, letting a flood of river water in. He felt the blood pounding in his ears. He gasped for breath and flailed instinctively but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not pull himself up. He struggled and gasped but only more water filled his mouth.

"Alfred?"

Arthur bolted upright. Sweet air filled his lungs., but it was just as dark. It took a moment for him to realise that he was no longer in the river but sitting on a soft bed.

He was in the spare room they reserved for guests. Arthur looked around just to be sure but yes, his suspicions were confirmed; this was definitely their spare room.

Jumping out of bed, Arthur raced through the dimly lit room to the main bedroom.

"Alfred!" he cried, grinning from ear to ear as he barrelled into the dark room.

Alfred was lying asleep, wrapped up in the sheets. At the sound of Arthur's voice, he turned over groggily and rubbed his eyes. He stared at him blearily, as if he was still watching a dream but, as Arthur approached the bed and knelt down next to him, he seemed to grow more alert to what was really happening.

"A – Arthur?" he sat up, hardly believing what he was seeing. He grabbed Arthur's hands, smiling on the verge of tears. "A – Arthur, it's really you, isn't it?"

Arthur nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but water filled it again. Suddenly it was cold and wet. And a pair of strong arms was hauling him up.

He broke through the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Besides him, America supported his weight, also breathing heavily.

"W – Why did you do that? I was there! I was home! Why the hell did you have to pull me out?" he cried.

"You were drowning!" America insisted.

"I was where I belonged!" he shouted, feeling the beginning of tears pooling around the edges of his eyes. He liked America. Despite the brashness, despite the rudeness and the cold gazes, he had come to understand America a little more but this time he wanted to punch him and yell and scream for all he was worth.

"Sleeping with the fishes you mean?" America snapped, somehow put on edge by the sight of Arthur's tears, though he might have told himself that it was just the water.

"America," Arthur gained control of his emotions a little more and took a deep breath to steady himself. "I think that you're a good person, I really do. I like you, America, but I can't stay here. Why do you want me to stay so much?"

America's defences spiked. "What are you talking about? I'm just being a hero and stopping you from suicide!"

Arthur shook his head furiously. He had been so close. Then again, what was stopping him from jumping into a river the next time?

XX

By the morning, American was unwillingly awoken by Japan pushing him to get up from the couch where he had slept upon returning with Arthur the previous night. They had not spoken much since then. Arthur had trundled upstairs and, apparently, went straight to bed, while America stayed downstairs, washed the river-water away in the kitchen and then fell asleep on the couch in the living room.

Now Japan was urging to get up. His brows were knotted in an expression of concern. "America-san, I think Arthur-san has a fever. He's not looking too well."

"Oh, really?" America sat up groggily, trying his best to try to look unconcerned.

Japan hurried to the door, America following behind him, yawning.

"I'm going to be some leeks. Leek and mushroom soup is good for colds. Can you watch over him for me?" Japan asked as he wriggled on his shoes.

"Sure thing."

The door closed.

America spent all of five seconds staring at it before he managed to blink. Sighing to himself, he glanced at the staircase. Surely he was not scared of ascending a handful of steps?

Pulling his courage together, America braved the first step. The creak of wood as he put his weight on it would have made him jump but, with all his determination, he surmounted the first obstacle and continued to climb.

Arthur was currently occupying England's bedroom. It was dark inside. Slowly pushing the door open, America peeked his head around the corner before creeping in.

He leaned over the bed to glance at Arthur's face. His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating a lot, his eyes were closed but his brows were furrowed with discomfort.

America slapped a hamburger on his head. "You're an idiot."

Arthur's hand touched the hamburger. Realising what it was he almost threw it off, shooting America the strangest look he had ever received, though, fortunately, he did not say anything.

"S - Shut up. Who's fault do you think this is?" his hoarse voice rasped.

"Yours. You jumped in that damn river."

"Very funny," Arthur coughed.

America tentatively put his hand against Arthur's forehead, but he quickly withdrew it just as their skin touched. He imagined that that was the kind of stuff Alfred would do, but he was certainly not Alfred.

Sinking down, he sat on the floor by the bedside, resting his back against the bed. He glanced around the room; it had been so long since he had been in England's room but nothing had really changed.

England held on to tradition and memory far too much to really change things; the drapes were Victorian, the porcelain figures on the shelves dated all the way back to Elizabeth's reign. There was even a piece of framed tapestry from the Middle Ages. England never changed. He never forgave either. Or forgot.

"I know that you can't stay here. Yeah, of course I know, but I don't want England to come back," he said with unusual quietness.

"Why not?" America could hear Arthur turn over, sheets rustling between his legs. "If he really hates you that much then he won't talk to you. Nothing will have changed, right? You two will just go back to the way you were before."

"Well yeah, but…" America sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. How could he explain it? It was so hard to put into words exactly what he felt. "It's your fault! You keep on saying how great Alfred is! I just know when England gets back he'll think I'm pathetic in comparison! He'll laugh right in my face and won't ever let me live it down!" he cried.

Arthur sighed aloud. His voice was weak. "Then let him. Why should you care?"

"Because - "

"You really like England, don't you?"

"I don't," America grumbled.

"How much do you like him?"

"Are you deaf, old man? I said that I don't like him!"

"…Really?" Arthur sounded tired and unconvinced, and America knew that it was no good. Maybe that meant that he was also no good. Either way, it was no good. It would not work.

"You've got to go, haven't you?" he realised, and hated the fact that he did not really want Arthur to leave.

* * *

XX


	10. Chapter 10

XX

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**Here I am 10**

XX

England was not sure how these odd switches came about. If he knew, he would have surely been able to emulate them and make the permanent switch back to where he belonged. However, he had been sleeping quite pleasantly when, suddenly, he had been dunked into cold river water and his clothes were weighed down with water. Someone grabbed his wrist and hauled him up but then, the moment he blinked, he was back in the bedroom, completely drenched, holding Alfred's hand.

He thought that he would die of embarrassment.

Therefore, when morning finally arrived, England had decided to make a point of not looking at Alfred. Even though they had important matters to discuss, he would not yield and look him in the face except when he need to glare at him.

"You mentioned that when he was in high school Arthur was into the occult," he said, keeping his head bowed.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I think so. Want some breakfast?" Alfred was already preparing food while England sat watching from the kitchen table. The fact that Alfred did not seem to share his embarrassment annoyed him slightly.

"Does he still have the books?" England asked, ignoring Alfred's other, pointless, question.

Alfred shook his head. "I imagine that he threw them away. Guess he couldn't stand me teasing him about it," he laughed, but that mirth instantly drained away as he noticed the look on England's face.

"You made fun of him?" England glared at him angrily. He had had enough of America teasing him in his world, but to find that it was a shared trait between all Alfreds annoyed him even more for some reason.

"Not you too," Alfred rolled his eyes. "Besides, Arthur doesn't believe in that junk anymore."

"Then I don't know what to do," he shrugged, loudly sighing. It seemed, no matter what the world, he was doomed to be thwarted be Alfred's idiocy.

Alfred's brows knitted with concern. "Don't be like that England. Can't you do something?" he pleaded.

England glared at him. Now he wanted him to leave. Just when he found out that he was not really the Arthur that he knew. England was annoyed and, though he had no idea why, somewhat stung as well. His pride was hurt. He was sure that was the only reason for the unpleasant sensation in his chest.

"You weren't this eager to have me leave a few nights ago," he muttered bitterly.

"Leaving?" Alfred's eyes widened. England could not believe what he was seeing was really surprise. Surely Alfred was not so much of an idiot to not realise that, in order for Arthur to return, he would have to leave.

"Yes. To get Arthur back we'll have to switch places again."

"You can't stay?"

Yes, Alfred was indeed that much of an idiot.

"Oh yes, I'm sure Arthur would be thrilled to see another version of himself," England marched to the door in a temper. Who would want to share Alfred with anyone else? Worse of all, he could not believe that Alfred was actually suggesting that. For some reason, he felt annoyed on the behalf of his counterpart.

Alfred shook his head, trying to explain. "I want Arthur back, but not because I want you to leave. I want Arthur back because I - "

"Love him, I know," England sighed with forced exasperation.

Alfred winced. It was a wonder how England always took his love and turned it into a weapon, into something he should feel guilty about. "I like you, England. I really do, and it would be awesome if you could stay," he began.

"Save it. You don't have to try and comfort me," he snorted, turning away from him.

"England!" Alfred stopped him. "You said that there's another me in that world. America, right? Why do you hate him so much? I'm sure that he doesn't really hate you. It's just that I – and he too, probably – can be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"Sometimes?" England raised an eyebrow.

Alfred shrugged and shifted around on his feet like an embarrassed child. "…Don't you want to see him again?"

England shrugged. "Even if I did, that wouldn't matter. He doesn't want to see me," he muttered under his breath.

Alfred frowned. Striding forward, he grabbed England by the arm. "What makes you so sure about that?" he demanded.

"We used to be together…a long time ago. But he left me. It's obvious, isn't it?" England smiled when he saw Alfred's surprised silence. "See? Even you can't say anything to that," he laughed bitterly, shaking Alfred's grip loose.

"I put gum in Arthur's hair once."

"What?"

"I – I know," Alfred stuttered, blushing deep red as England's gaze burned into him, "I was in love."

"So you put gum in his hair?" England stared at him incredulously.

"I stole his notebooks and I used to pelt him with paper," he said, ticking off his fingers, "I did all sorts of horrible things to him but I was in love with him the whole time."

"Putting gum and throwing paper at someone isn't the same as pointing muskets at each other!"

"My point is that people can be in love and still do horrible things to the one they love. I'm sure you're not entirely blameless either, right?"

England turned his gaze away from Alfred. "H – How could you suggest that - "

"C'mon, England," Alfred nudged him, "I know Arthur isn't the person to take things lying down and neither are you, probably. Regardless of who started it, when you got hit you hit back, didn't you? And over time it probably just escalated…"

"Who are you? My psychologist?" he snapped.

Alfred, taking it all in his stride – he was more than used to England's foul temper by now – puffed up his chest proudly. "I'd be an awesome shrink, wouldn't I?"

England clicked his tongue irritably. It was annoying when Alfred never seemed fazed by anything he said. "Well, if you're done psycho-analysing my relationship with America perhaps you could tell me where the nearest garden centre is."

Despite England professed love of gardening, his planned trip to the garden centre was not meant to be a pleasure cruise. He fully intended to make use of the trip to get some supplies and try his hand at magic one last time, despite how stifling this world was when it came to using magic. No wonder he had not seen any fairies. He doubted that they could have lasted very long in such an inhospitable environment.

However, as he moved along the stacks of potted plants, he made a mental note to never go shopping with Alfred ever again.

"England," he tugged at his sleeve, constantly pestering him like an excitable child in a candy store. How could he find the right plants like this?

"England," Alfred tugged at his sleeve harder this time. "You like roses too, don't you?"

"Stop messing around. This is serious," he growled, snatching his arm away.

Alfred smiled, completely oblivious to England's foul mood. "One day, I'm going to buy a place with a garden so that Arthur can grow roses. He really loves flowers, you know?"

England sighed. Of course he knew that. He and Arthur were the same, weren't they? Moving away from Alfred, he skimmed the long shelves hosting various plants, grabbing the ones he needed at once. After years of studying magic he could identify the ones he needed with just a glance.

"Holly, mistletoe, thyme…"

"England, do you really want to go back?" Alfred, catching up with him, whispered close to his ear. His voice was soft and sounded too concerned for England to believe that he was only mocking him.

England glanced over his shoulder as he walked. "What I want is not the issue. This is something that has to be done. I don't expect someone irresponsible like you to understand."

"Will you be happy going back?" Alfred pursued him through the rows of plants.

"Why should you care?"

"Of course I'll care!"he cried, offended that he would think otherwise. "England is England and I know enough about you to know that you deserve to be happy!"

"You don't have to patronise me," England muttered. "Anyway, what do you know? What the hell do you know about anything?"

Alfred caught his wrist, spinning him around where he stood. He grabbed his shoulders, fising him squarely in his gaze. Though England tried to look away there was something about Alfred's serious expression that made it hard to turn away.

"It's okay. It's okay, England. You're just lonely, right? It's okay. You might think you're the only one that's so pathetic but that's not true. Everyone always gets lonely sometimes. I bet it's the same with America too. I bet that he's really lonely."

"What do you know about anything?"

Alfred's expression softened. "It's funny. Because countries as so tough on the outside I would have expected them to be the same on the inside but, actually, you're just like us. It's sort of…reassuring. I guess that's why I like you so much!"

"Alfred…" England's mouth went dry. He honestly did not know what to say anymore. It was both frustrating and sad. No matter how many times he pushed away, Alfred simply came bouncing back with a smile. He wanted to know how he did it. How he managed to have such super human courage and kindness, how he always seemed to know the right thing to say.

"Ah, you said my name!" Alfred clapped his hands together happily. "Most of the time you're calling me a git or a wanker!"

He truly was at a loss… He could not win, not against Alfred.

"Shall we go home?" Alfred offered him his hand.

"To your home, you mean," England corrected him.

"Our home," he insisted, "at least, until you feel like there's somewhere else you belong, you're not going back."

England wondered how he intended to stop him.

* * *

Four chapters to go! Will I actually be able to complete this fic? Who knows.


	11. Chapter 11

XX

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**Here I am 11**

XX

England was sitting rather awkwardly on the couch, waiting for Alfred to finish the hot cocoa he had promised, no insisted, on serving him.

He stared at the pots of plants and sprigs of mistletoe they had bought now standing on the coffee table in front of him. He had ingredients but he had no idea what to do next and this world did not exactly have the best environment for magic. It stifled his power, forcing him to struggle just to utilise a tenth of it.

"Besides," he muttered to himself. "Alfred told me that I should stay."

Why did he say that? He knew that Arthur would not be able to get back unless he left and he was still eager to be reunited with his lover again so why would he say that? England had no idea what kind of twisted logic Alfred followed, or f he was idealistic enough to think that there was some other way.

"Ah, England, here you go!" the man himself arrived with a steaming cup.

England accepted it silently, eyeing the marshmallows bobbing up and down in his drink with some wariness. Trust Alfred to do something this childish.

"I have to ask you," he said, sipping around the floating pink cubes, "just what exactly is going on in that pea-sized brain of yours. If anything at all."

Alfred looked confused.

England sighed. "What I mean is that you should know that Arthur can't come back unless I leave, and you can't stop me from leaving so…why did you say those things before?"

"Ah," Alfred looked at him knowingly. It annoyed England a little. "Of course I want Arthur to come back. I love him after all. And I also don't want to give America more time to make any moves on my lover!" he added with vigour, eyes sparking for a moment with a fiery will to fight against any rivals he may have.

"So then why," England asked, trying to ignore the fact that Alfred seemed the most vivacious when he was talking about Arthur. He doubted that anyone ever looked so alive when they talked about him. If anyone ever talked about him at all.

"Because I also trust Arthur," he explained. "I trust him to be able to manage for a little while longer, and I trust him not to cheat on me. I trust him to keep on loving me too."

England was not sure what to say in retaliation. He always figured that Alfred's relationship with Arthur was some crazy, passionate love that encompassed everything and had not burnt out only because human lives were too short for it to burn out. He did not expect this. He did not expect that there was something quieter, something softer and yet so much stronger underneath it all.

It made him feel even worse. It made him feel pathetic in comparison to this Arthur, who was capable of the same kind of love.

Alfred smiled. "You're just like him. I mean, there are slight differences but you're still the same as Arthur deep down."

"You should say that he's still the same as me!" England muttered. He was sure that he was the original anyway.

Alfred shrugged. He was not bothered enough to argue. "Maybe it's just because you look like Arthur that I feel compelled to help you…but that's probably not it. I'm a hero after all; I'll always help a person in need no matter who they are!"

England sighed. Did every Alfred in the world have a hero complex?

"But heroes can also be selfish," he added, making England start and almost spill his hot cocoa over his lap. Alfred blushed but kept his gaze fixed on England's face. "The fact is….the truth, I mean, is that I'm not really doing this because you look like Arthur or because I'm a Good Samaritan. I'm not doing it because of noble intentions. I'm doing it for America."

XX

"Thank you," Arthur sighed, feeling a deliciously cold towel press against his burning forehead. He was glad that he had talked America out of giving him the hamburger treatment.

"What for?" America paused in the middle of his nursing duties. Japan had left after making a week's worth of leek and mushroom soup. His boss had called him on business in his country…or so he had said.

"Looking after me like this," Arthur smiled, touching the towel.

"You always know how to create trouble for others," America grumbled as he soaked a second towel in cold water. Honestly, he had no idea why he was stuck here doing this but if he had not promised Japan that he would care for Arthur then Japan would have called France over instead, which was never a good idea. He did not know why he cared though.

"I'm sorry," Arthur coughed,

"If you're sorry then get better already!" America snapped. He did not want to be doing this. It was so uncomfortable. So boring. So awkward.

"…Sorry."

A moment of silence passed between them. It was dark in the room. Arthur claimed that he could not sleep with the lights on so the darkness outside and the darkness inside combined in some strange double darkness that made the air thick and inky.

"America, you…" Arthur spoke up again. His voice was light and seemed to float on the darkness, somewhere far above the thickness of the air. "America, when I go, and when England comes back, please try to at least be civil to him."

America started up, surprised that Arthur would even think of asking such a thing. Besides, he did not owe Arthur anything and would get nothing in return. You did not do anything for anyone unless there was some sort of repayment; that was the basics of negotiations!

"Why should I?" he demanded angrily. England had never been civil to him. He did not know why he had to start.

"America…" there was a hint of a reprimand in Arthur's voice, which annoyed America even more. He was being treated like a child again, even though he had gone to such lengths to prove that he was no longer a boy. He was an adult now. He did not have to listen to anyone.

"No, why should I? Everything is his fault anyway!" he snapped. "After I broke away from him, I was still prepared to forgive but he – he never forgives! All he does is wallow in his memories. It's so pathetic it makes me want to be sick every time!"

"America…"

"Can't you understand that I hate him?"

"America…" Arthur spoke in a firmer tone, though it was more patient. "It's alright. It's alright," he whispered, reaching out a hand from under the bed covers.

America did not take it, though he may have wanted to. For some reason, he felt too ashamed to take it.

"Hey, America, if you won't do that for me then will you do another favour for me?"

"What?" he asked warily.

"Help me get to the bridge."

"Right now?"

"I'm going to go back," Arthur said, struggling to sit up.

"Are you stupid? You're sick!" America supported his back as he moved, trying to push him back down as gently as possible.

"I'm feeling much better," Arthur insisted, which America was sure was pure bullshit. If anything, his face was redder than before and his voice more strained. However, he saw that Arthur was adamant. He was already swinging his legs over the bed. He would not be stopped.

America only had deep misgivings about this.

Wrapped tightly in a long coat over his pyjamas, Arthur managed to hobble, with America's support, to the bridge overlooking the dark river. America himself remained uncannily silent throughout the painstakingly slow walk, though Arthur could feel America's eyes never leaving him for a moment, as if he thought he would collapse at any second.

Eventually they made it to the same deserted bridge. Of the two lamps that illuminated on either end of the bridge, one of them had since flickered out, leaving only a single pool of yellow light and the rest in darkness.

"You know, I'm sure that England is just fine where he is," America grumbled as he let go. Arthur leaned heavily on the railing, panting slightly. His forehead was beaded with sweat but the cold wind seemed to please him.

"Maybe he is," he agreed, "but I need to go back, and you need to face him."

"I don't have to do anything!" America snapped.

"America," Arthur smiled, forgiving him for his petulance. "I am England, and he's me. Essentially, anyway. That's why I'm not worried about leaving you like this, because I know that England will take care of you."

America looked indignant that Arthur would suggest such a thing. However, concern unfortunately overcame his attempts to remain offended. It did not take an idiot to realise that Arthur was in no state to go diving into a cold river, and he would be leaving for good if he went through with it.

Even worse, England would be back. After everything that had happened, he did not know if he could face him anymore.

"I don't want to let you leave…" America tugged on Arthur's sleeve. His face burned just as red as Arthur's as he spoke. Even at that moment, he could not believe that he had said something so lame.

Arthur smiled, understanding everything even if America did not say all that he felt.

"But you will," he insisted, clambering on to the railings. America tried to stop him but he was already balancing on the other side. "You will. Because you're going to push me."

It took several seconds for this to process in America's mind.

"…What?"

"Send me back. With your own hands," Arthur insisted. Seeing America's hesitation, he smiled. "What's the matter? You can do this much, can't you?"

America bit down on his lip to stop the habitual retort from coming out. He at least had enough sense to know that now was not the time to start an argument, especially not when Arthur was precariously balanced on the edge of the bridge, ready to drop at the slightest gust of wind.

He could have pushed Arthur. It would be easy to do so, but yet he could not bring himself to lift his arm and do the deed. If Arthur's crazy theory was correct, and he would switch places by doing this then America knew that would mean that England would return.

He did not know why he would care either way. Yet at the same time he knew that he had become so accustomed to Arthur's presence that the switch would be a turn for the worse. After Arthur's patience and understanding, to meet with England's criticism and dislike was not something he could handle right now.

America grabbed Arthur's sleeve, stopping him from falling. It was just the cold that made his hand shake but the blush on his face was real.

How hard was it to put feelings into words?

"You're just like him…but at the same time you're not. You're calmer. You're lighter. You seem much happier."

Arthur smiled and shook his head. "If I'm happy then it's because of what Alfred has done for me," he said. "I don't want to blow my own horn, but Alfred always used to say that I looked best with a smile. It's the same for England too, isn't it?"

America could not say anything. He had not seen England smile properly in so long that he had almost forgotten what it looked like.

However, he was aware of Arthur's smile in front of him now. He was aware of his hand on Arthur's sleeve, this knuckles just grazing his wrist where his pulse steadily throbbed. He was aware that Arthur was sick and wanted to go home. He was aware of the cold and the darkness that seemed to follow him everywhere.

He was aware that Arthur loved someone else; another him. A better him.

But surely he could be just as great as Alfred.

"America," Arthur's voice shook him from his reverie. His burning hand touched the side of his face. "Shall I stay with you after all?"

America started. Had he heard that right? But he had always thought that Arthur loved Alfred. Why would he be willing to never go back if he really loved Alfred?

Yet he noticed that Arthur's hand was trembling against his cheek. He looked closely and saw the sadness behind that smile, the resignation, and the determination to sacrifice himself for the sake of America's happiness. It was like a blow to the gut. Although America would grudgingly admit that he liked Arthur it would be a huge blow to his pride to feel as though he were forcing Arthur to stay against his will.

No, he was through with making unreasonable demands.

Besides, heroes should not be selfish should they?

With as much effort as he could muster, America smiled. He let go of Arthur's sleeve, gently pulled down the hand against his cheek, and pressed his own against his chest. "Goodbye…"

He pushed lightly but it was enough to send Arthur falling backwards into the waters that waited below in anticipation.

And it occurred to America, as he watched Arthur fall, that he had always known that he would push him in the end. Arthur had never doubted that he would push him.

* * *

XX


	12. Chapter 12

XX

* * *

**Here I am **

**chapter 12**

XX

England had had his suspicions before but now he was absolutely certain that this world is utterly dead of all magic. He sighed as he tried for the umpteenth time to start a magical circle, but his magic had been shrivelled to the level of a conjurer's tricks. It was truly humiliating.

Annoyed at his lack of success despite managed to get his hands on several black magic books since buying the herbs he might need, England headed towards the door. He needed some fresh air. Perhaps it would allow him to clear his head and think of a different way to get back.

"England, where are you going?" Alfred, unfortunately, popped his head around the door just as England was about to quietly slip out.

"I just wanted a breath of fresh air," he grumbled. Did he really have to explain his every move?

"I'll come with you!" Alfred hurried towards him, grabbing his coat from the back of the couch.

"There's no need. I can look after myself."

"No, it's fine. I have nothing to do. I'll come with you," he insisted.

England wanted to roll his eyes. "You're like a dog."

"I'm sure it's a trait that we both share," Alfred grinned, but England failed to share his amusement. Noticing his bad mood, Alfred's expression softened. "America will fall in love with you. I mean, if he hasn't already," he reassured him.

England instinctively recoiled from such careless words. "Idiot, what the hell are you talking about?" he shouted. Honestly, why did both versions have to say whatever the hell they wanted to say?

"Don't think lightly of me! I know these things!" Alfred looked proud as he shrugged on his long coat.

"I hope that he doesn't. It would just be a bother for me," England muttered.

"But aren't you lonely?"

"America is the last person I would want to share my loneliness with!" he snapped.

Alfred shrugged. "It wouldn't be hard to pretend that you're Arthur and tell you that I love you," he said so casually that England blushed bright red. "You could pretend that I'm America…but we both know that that won't satisfy you or me. We both want the person we love the most."

England said nothing, although he was severely tempted to smack Alfred around the side of his head.

However Alfred looked at him with a sombre expression that slightly cowed him, although England would fiercely deny ever shrinking back from such an idiot. "You do love America, don't you?" it was said as more of a statement than a question.

"That was…a long time ago," England sighed, though he did not want to think about the angel in his memory, about the cute little boy who had loved him unconditionally.

"You still love him, don't you?" Alfred nudged him.

England looked at him firmly. "I…"

His next words were met with water. Cold river water flooded into his mouth, and he briefly thought; 'Oh bloody hell, not this again!' as the weight of his clothes dragged him down to the bottom.

It took a matter of seconds for his limbs to start struggling against the current. Swimming upwards as water filled his lungs and stung his eyes, England broke through the surface, gasping and spluttering for breath.

"Bloody hell, it's cold!" he swore as the cold wind hit him.

Though it was dark, he could clearly identify where he was and it was not too far from his home, but what did that matter? In a matter of moments he would probably be pulled back to where Alfred was and then Alfred would see his sodden state and make a fuss and insist on a bath and sleep straight away, no arguments.

Paddling to the bank, he gripped the grassy edge and hauled himself out. But for the sound of traffic roaring distantly around him, he was utterly alone.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

England frowned and hugged his knees. He did not know how these switches happened, but perhaps they were just being slower than usual. Yet still he waited and, after five minutes, he started to wonder if this was it; he was home and for good.

That meant that Arthur must have somehow worked a way to get himself back. He wanted to congratulate his other self for his ingenuity but it was cold and dark and all he wanted to do was go home.

"Finally," he sighed. It was about time this ridiculous swap had been put to an end. Now he would not have to worry about any Americas or Alfreds or any of the like.

Dragging his wet, cold body back to his house he was slightly annoyed to see that it was unlocked, but he would not quibble over details at the moment. It was dark in his house; everything had been left as it had been before. It was quiet and there was not another soul to be seen, not even his fairies.

England frowned. He had been living alone for a long time now. There was no reason to be disappointed by its emptiness now.

XX

Arthur's thoughts swam lazily as his consciousness returned to him. He opened his eyes tentatively and was greeted by mountains of white blankets and the person sleeping next to him.

"A – Alfred?" he lifted his head groggily. They were in bed, almost smothered by the heavy blankets that Arthur could have almost believed that everything, his whole adventure in that other world, had been nothing more than a dream. Almost…

Alfred stirred. He slung an arm around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer, snuggling for warmth. "Arthur? You're awake now?" one blue eye opened blearily. Though he looked tired, he still managed to smile. "I was worried when you came back and you wouldn't wake up. I thought that…no, never mind. I missed you," he said, still smiling despite how worried he had been when the switch had occurred.

"How much work did I skip?" Arthur pulled himself up into a sitting position.

Alfred frowned, a little offended that that was the first thing Arthur had asked. However, he was more than used to Arthur's work-conscious ethics. In fact, he had missed it slightly. "Don't worry. I've sorted out everything for you," he reassured him, tugging his lover back down into the blankets.

This was real. He really was back. He could feel the blankets underneath his fingers warmed by body heat, he could hear Alfred's voice as he spoke to him, bask in the warmth as their skin graced against each other in light embraces.

"Alfred," he cupped the side of Alfred's face. "I'm glad to see you again."

Alfred leaned in and pressed a hand against Arthur's forehead. "You have a slight fever," he frowned. "Didn't that idiot America look after you?"

As amusing as it was to hear Alfred call himself, or the other him, an idiot Arthur was more concerned with the thought of America blaming England for his disappearance. He dearly hoped that the two of them would get along. At least, he knew that England could not possibly hate America as much as he let on.

"Oh so you know about the other world too," Arthur murmured, suddenly feeling pensive. Seeing America made him appreciate everything that he had in this world. Seeing America had been slightly sad and strange, but he also had hope since he was sure that he knew England, and perhaps even America, better than America himself.

"I met England. He looked just like you," Alfred looked thoughtful. He held Arthur's hand against the pillow, fingers weaving together.

"America looked just like you too," Arthur moved closer, "but he was different. Something had happened in the past that made him bitter and angry. He was just like you. Or what you could have been."

Soft chuckles escaped Alfred's lips as he heaved himself up to plant a kiss against Arthur's forehead. His laughter bubbled against Arthur's skin, hot breath whispering over his flushed skin.

"It'll be okay. Those two…I'm sure they'll be okay. Those two still have time," he said confidently, as if he had already peeked into the future and found it bright.

Arthur smiled. It was good to be back, to hear Alfred clear away all of his doubts with just a few words, to share a bed together, to talk together. Briefly, he thought about America and England and if they would ever do the same one day.

But Alfred was right. They were countries. What might have been an irreparable situation for a human was not impossible for a country to fix. They had time

"All the time in the world," he agreed sleepily, closing his eyes. He curled up next to Alfred, listening to his partner's heartbeat.

They might not have as much time as their counterparts though, for now, he was sure that theirs was better spent sleeping in the arms of the other.

XX

Stepping out of the shower, England quickly dried himself down with a towel. It was late and he had wanted to go to sleep an hour ago. Watching the steam escape, he flung the damp towel onto the rack and started pulling on the pair of green pyjamas – they were the softest pair that he owned and saved only for when he really needed his sleep.

As he finished off towelling his hair dry, he heard a rather loud bang that made his heart jump a little. He froze. It had come from downstairs. The wind perhaps?

However, as he ventured downstairs to check, he could find nothing odd. None of the windows were open - he checked them all just in case - and the front door was firmly closed. The kitchen was empty, as was the corridor. He even checked the pantry just in case.

England drifted into the front-room, not bothering to turn on the lights as he quickly surveyed the familiar surroundings. There was nothing there either.

The sudden sound of footsteps him made him jump around. He almost screamed as he did so, nearly bumping into America, who had been approaching him from behind.

"Bloody hell you scared me! How the hell did you get in?" he squawked.

"Arthur gave me the spare key," America looked unimpressed as dangled the spare he had been given in front of England's nose.

"Well_ Arthur_ is not in charge of this house," England snapped, snatching they key from America's fingers.

Frowning, America followed England as he angrily marched back into the kitchen. "You've got a mountain of paper work to do. Our next meeting is in a few weeks," he reminded him, eyeing England's tense back in the darkness of the unlit kitchen.

Though it annoyed England that America did not even have the decency to ask how he was – even if it was just empty courtesy – but he bit his lip and did not say anything about the matter.

"Then kindly stop disturbing me and let me do my work," he muttered instead, spinning around angrily to face him.

America was right in front of him the moment that he turned. England stumbled back in surprise, hitting the table counter right behind him. Before he could move, America shoved two fingers into his mouth and pulled the edges of his lips as far apart as possible.

"England…smile…"

Rather than smile, England almost gagged and bit down on America's fingers. He threw his head back, pushing America away. "What the hell?" he spluttered, coughing up the taste of America's skin.

"Arthur must have been boasting. It's not cute at all…" America looked disappointed.

"What did you say?"

America looked at him glumly. He retreated backwards with a look of dissatisfaction, almost until he was out of the kitchen entirely.

England sighed. "So I'm assuming you spent time with the other me. It's the same for me too. I spent time with the other…you. He was an idiot," he grumbled, "…but he was a kind idiot."

If possible, America's frown deepened. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the side of the doorframe in a petulant manner. "So you like him, huh?"

"I didn't say that," England said sharply. "But it is true that those two are better people than we could ever be. Of course they're better people. We're countries! We never had the time or freedom that they did to fix anything or - "

"That's just an excuse, isn't it?"

England shook his head, keeping his gaze trained to the point below America's jaw line, "We're countries. It can't be helped, right?"

America felt like smashing something. Preferably something expensive that England dearly loved. He reminded himself that this was why he hated England. Such cowardice made him shrink back in revulsion.

"Is that why?" he demanded.

They could not overcome their differences because they were countries, they could not be reconciled because they were countries, they hated each other because they were countries…such reasoning stuck painfully in America's throat.

England limply shrugged. He could not bring himself to look into America's eyes for fear of what he would find. He was such a pathetic person.

"It can't be helped, right?"

America was disappointed. He was not sure why he was disappointed since he was not sure what he had hoped for but he knew that that sinking feeling in his chest had to be disappointment. He was also angry, he reckoned, although he did not know why he was angry either.

"If that's all you have to say then I'm going home," he said, a little snappier than he had intended, but he was annoyed he told himself so why should he not be snappy?

England's anger flared up. That anger that America was so used to being on the receiving end of, somehow seemed so much scarier now. "So go home! Who asked you to come here? Let me get some sleep!" he snarled, shoving him away.

America huffed. "Fine! I'm sure you're disappointed to see me anyway. After hanging around Alfred, I bet I must be a big disappointment to you!" he spun around on his heel, marching for the door.

"You git, don't insult me by suggesting that I would be so low as to compare you two together! Alfred was a nice guy but you're the one who's here! I'm looking at you, America!"

He stopped before he could even leave the kitchen.

Why did those two always say such thoughtless things?

"Are you sure?" America turned back, fixing England in his gaze. Yes, this was England, not Arthur. He could have believed Arthur when he had said it but England was different. England was not so kind to him. "Whenever you look at me you always seem to be looking at me when I was a kid, not the me I am now."

"Don't put the angel of my memory on the same level as you!" England snapped. "I know what you're like. You're childish. You're immature and rude and you think too highly of yourself. You have terrible manners, you're ungrateful, you don't think before you speak, you can't read the atmosphere either!"

England's expression suddenly shifted. America stared on in wonder as England retreated against the wall, bowing his head as if the truth was curling in on him.

"But I know…" he replied softly, almost too soft to hear, "that you're enthusiastic and you have a strong sense of justice! Even someone like me can admit that you're generous and you're kind. Sometimes you can be too kind. Sometimes you can be so kind you can hurt the person you're being kind to. That's the sort of person you are after all."

"Well then you're stupid. What part of me is kind? Have I ever been kind to you?"

England glared at him. "You think that I'm stupid?" he hissed. "Do you think that my head is full of sentimental mush? I know all this because I was looking at you, idiot! I was looking at you the whole time!"

America looked away; partly to conceal the blush that sudden bloomed across his cheeks, partly because he did not want to look at England at that moment. What the hell was this? he wanted to demand. He had been so sure all this time. All this time he had told himself that he was the only one, that only he could be pathetic enough to cling on, to not be able to let go.

He had been intent on not showing this stupid, laughable side of himself to anyone else. He had been so careful in making sure that everything he did could not be taken for weakness. He had done everything perfectly, and yet he could not stand being thought of as inferior to Alfred in England's eyes.

Had everything then been for nothing?

America clutched his head and groaned. This was too complicated for him. "Oh God, I hate you! You always make my head hurt!" he complained.

England scowled. "Go away, America. That'll cure you," he said dryly.

"Don't wanna!"

Why was it, the more real the feeling, the harder it was to say? Why was it, the more important the feeling, the heavier it felt? Why was it is so hard to say what one really thought? Since when had lying become easier than telling the truth?

"England…" America straightened. He took too paces into the kitchen. Closer…closer..

Words were so clumsy.

"What…?" England looked like a cornered rabbit.

America opened his mouth but he did not know what to say. What was there to say? What could he possibly say which would be conveyed properly? Even if he spoke now there was no guarantee that England would understand the words he spoke.

"England…" he tested his voice. His heart was beating furiously but he ignored it. "Me too…I mean, I was as well. Watching, I mean. That is…I was always looking at you as well…"

America's face burned. He had wanted to say something elegant, something profound, but all he had managed was some clumsy stuttering.

"It's late," England glanced outside at the almost inky blackness haunting the windows.

"Oh…right. You want to sleep," America sighed, smiling bitterly to himself. Of course England would not understand. They had gone on so long misunderstanding each other that anything they said now would never reach the other.

"Why don't you stay the night. It's too late to be checking into a hotel, isn't it?" England offered, causing America's heart to accidentally skip a beat.

"Well, I have gotten used to sleeping on your couch."

Maybe…

"There's a spare room upstairs."

* * *

Ah, I counted incorrectly. Last chapter will be the last chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

Last chapter!

* * *

Here I am 

Chapter 13

XX

Pulling off the long scarf wrapped around his throat, Arthur climbed the final few steps to their apartment. It had been a long day. Maybe he was getting old, but the children were harder to handle than normal. They had all but climbed on top of him in their excitement when he had walked through the door and had never let him have a moment's peace until the last bell had rung.

Perhaps he should find a quieter profession like Alfred, although he could never leave the kids…

He fumbled with his keys and turned the lock, turning the knob, he pushed the door open with his shoulder. "I'm ho - "

"Arthur! Arthur! Welcome back!" an excitable Feliciano almost bowled right into him. And he had dared to think that he was done for the day with excitable children…

Behind Feliciano, Ludwig stood looking rather embarrassed for them both and Feliciano's brother was scowling at him, muttering. "Took ya long enough, bastard!"

"A – Alfred?" Arthur shot his lover a confused look as Alfred, looking rather smug in his stars-and-stripes apron, came over to take part in the ruckus.

"Hey, Arthur, I heard the good news! Alfred said that your memory is back! So you remember Alfred now? You love him, right?" Feliciano gushed as Arthur, with the combined help of Ludwig, managed to pry him off from around his shoulders. Even separated, Feliciano continued to bounce up and down happily, grinning from ear to ear.

Alfred caught Arthur's elbow and pulled him aside, out of ear shot of the others. "Sorry, Arthur," he whispered, "it's just, when England was here, I thought that he was…well, I thought that you had amnesia and…"

"I think I'm beginning to understand. Are you saying you couldn't tell the difference between me and England?" Arthur looked unimpressed.

"I knew there were differences!" Alfred defended himself. "But I thought that that was only because you had lost your memory and…" he blushed, "it hurt you know, thinking that you didn't love me anymore."

"You're a sap," Arthur could not help shaking his head, although he did this whilst managing not to look into Alfred's eyes. He knew that Alfred would be currently wearing the human-equivalent to the expression of a kicked puppy and it was so cute, if he looked at him at that moment, he would probably do something very embarrassing. In front of everyone.

"Anyway, just stick with the story. They'll never believe us if we told them the truth," Alfred pulled him closer, settling for a quick peck on his cheek before returning to help Francis in the kitchen with whatever four-course feast they were cooking up in there.

Arthur sighed as Alfred left. "Why do I do these things for you?"

However, as he was debating what he could stand more; Felicano's clinginess or Francis' insufferably wandering hands, he was once again appropriated by another of their friends.

"Oh, Kiku," he smiled as Kiku approached him. He was thinking about Japan. He had oddly missed that nation whose presence had dwindled as Arthur had spent more time with America. That guy seemed to disappear at the most convenient – or perhaps inconvenient – times.

Kiku bowed. "Forgive me for not coming earlier. Francis told me about the amnesia and I thought that it would be best not to interfere."

"No, it's fine," he shook his head. "Really. It was busy enough without people coming over."

Kiku smiled lightly. "An…acquaintance of mine was also very worried. He also sends his regards and hopes that you are well."

"Oh? Well then thank him for me," Arthur replied, a little awkward. He was embarrassed to think that complete stranger knew, or thought that they knew, what had happened to him.

"He also sends you a present," Kiku handed him a round Tupperware bowl full of soup.

Arthur accepted the present gratefully. Lifting the lid, he sniffed the now lukewarm contents. It smelt familiar. "Leek…and mushroom soup?" he guessed.

Kiku nodded. "He told me to pass on a message for you; please don't be reckless from now on. Leek and mushroom soup cannot cure everything…" His smile deepened, but instead of seeming brighter it only made him look enigmatic. Kiku had always been a strange one. "Oh, and he said not to worry about the future. Everything will be fine."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, to ask him what he had meant, but then Alfred came flouncing back, dragging Francis away from his precious cooking to join them all.

"Arthur! Arthur!" he cried, waving a camera in his hand.

"What?" Arthur turned around just in time to be blinded by the flash.

"Smile!" he grinned.

XX

When England trundled down the stairs to prepare breakfast that morning, he smelt cooking oil and bacon. America was already in the kitchen, his back was turned to him and he was cooking.

When America turned he almost dropped the plate in surprise.

"Oh," was all he managed as he set the table with two identical plates stacked with food. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, reminding England of everything that had happened the previous night.

England blushed and looked down. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them in which neither moved.

"Um," America cleared his throat. "I was starving and just helped myself. I'll go after this."

England nodded silently. His eyes trailed along the white table cloth so that he did not have to look at America. He noticed the blue milk jug on the table and the plates on either side. America had made toast and a side of eggs, sunny side up, which became the hair on the face of their plates with two fried tomatoes for eyes and a sausage smile.

Just like Alfred.

Looking up, America had turned around and was doing the dishes in a moment of strange thoughtfulness. England took a deep breath, summoning the little courage that he had.

_But the walls you build to keep out pain also keep out happiness as well_, Alfred had said. England had found him stupidly masochistic but perhaps he had a point. Perhaps Alfred had not been as stupid as he had seemed.

England moved around the table, towards the sink where Alfred was scrubbing the hardened fat from the frying pan. Sensing his presence, America turned as England approached but before he could do anything England shoved two fingers inside his mouth and pulled the edges of his lips as far apart as possible.

"America…smile…"

He pulled out his fingers quickly, thoroughly enjoying the bewildered look on America's face. Laughter bubbled in his throat, and something warm seemed to be shining in his chest. Before he knew it, England started to laugh. How long had it been since he had laughed. It felt good.

God it felt good to laugh.

America was not sure what the hell England was doing. Maybe he had finally lost it once and for all. However, only now did he realise that Arthur had been telling the truth.

England's smile was beautiful.

* * *

XX


	14. Chapter 14

The actual story Here I Am finished last chapter. This is actually a side-story, which I thought I'd just tack onto the end of this one. It's a story concerning just Alfred and Arthur

**Note:** This side-story takes place years before the switch in Here I Am happens. In fact, it takes place before the even become a couple. Remember, when Arthur was telling America about how he and Alfred went on a school trip together? This is the trip.

* * *

**A Strange moment.**

"Ugh! This is the last straw!"

Gilbert jerked his head up as his roommate barged into their room, slamming doors and stomping across the carpet as he blazed through.

"That fucking Alfred! What is he a kid?" he swore as he marched straight into the bathroom, to the mirror nailed above the sink.

"Alfred again?" Gilbert glanced at the bathroom's open door from where he had been reading - a porn magazine by the looks of it – on his bed. It had been exciting and a good source of gossip at first but now his roommate had simply grown weary of hearing about their constant fights, as were most of their friends.

"He put fucking gum in my hair!" Arthur raged, snipping off the ends of a few strands of hair where the gum was sticking obstinately. Luckily, it was only on the ends and not somewhere more troublesome but that did not make him any less angry.

"Hey, aren't you going on a trip together? Will you even survive? Can I have your stereo if you don't?"

"It's ridiculous!" Arthur ignored him. "Why does our year have to go on a research expedition with a bunch of kids?"

"He's not that much younger than you," Gilbert was, again, ignored.

"This is going to be the worst trip ever!"

And of course Arthur was right. He was always right, was he not? His bad luck did not even have the decency to wait until they were in another country to start pelting him with misery but pounced upon him in the couch to the airport, taking form of an overly-cheerful, idiotic young man.

"This seat isn't taken, is it?"

Arthur wanted to smack him with his book.

"It is, actually," he replied tersely, refusing all eye contact. It was a lie. Of course it was a lie. He had no one to sit with and did not care either; at least no one would bother him when he was trying to read.

Alfred shrugged and sat down next to him. "Oh well, they can find somewhere else to sit," he grinned. "What are you reading?"

"Jane Austen," Arthur determinedly stared at the words.

"You like that costume drama stuff?"

"It is not - " he started to protest, but then realised he had broken his golden rule of making no eye contact and turned back to his novel. "Whatever," he grunted. Normally he would rise to the bait but this time he refused to argue. He was not going to let Alfred jerk him around, not this time! Maybe Alfred was like a bear – if you left it alone, it would leave you alone too.

With his new plan of action in mind, Arthur tried to turn back to his book but he could not help but notice that Alfred was staring intently at him.

"…So you got the gum out, huh?" he said.

This was going to be the worst trip ever.

XX

Yet he should have known the moment that Alfred sat next to him that he was not going to have an easy ride. Misery loved company, all bad things come in threes, everything that can possibly go wrong will. Murphey's Law.

"This is…some sort of curse, isn't it?" Arthur managed to mutter through gritted teeth as he watched Alfred taking samples of the soil.

The two of them seemed fated to forever collide with each other. Either that or their tutor had some twisted sense of humour when he put them together in a pair. Arthur was ready to cvurse Fate or the Gods or Destiny for his rotten luck, but he was a little too preoccupied with keeping his eye on Alfred. He definitely did not trust him.

"What are you talking about? Why are you standing so far away?" Alfred, after finishing his sample, noticed Arthur standing a good ten paces away

"Isn't it obvious! I don't trust you of course!"

"Is it about the gum? I'm sorry about that."

Arthur sighed. It was really about more than just the gum, although that did not particularly help his case. "You git, what would possibly possess you to do something like that?"

"It is about the gum," Alfred looked mournful.

And the five thousand other things you've done to harass me since starting university!" he snapped.

Alfred waved his hands innocently. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. It's just…it was fun," he blushed. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Fun for who?"

"For me of course!" he quipped before offering a quick, "Sorry."

Arthur fell into sullen silence. He was determined to punish Alfred in some manner but, which was worse, he never seemed to be able to succeed. In fact the more he reacted the more Alfred seemed to enjoy himself. It was as if he taunted him just to see how red his cheeks could burn.

"Hey, let's go to the coast," Alfred's voice suddenly shook him from his thoughts. Arthur looked up sharply.

"Aren't we supposed to be doing research?"

"No one said we couldn't do research on the coast."

Fair point.

This was another reason why he deserved to hold a grudge against Alfred. No matter how outrageous it was, he always seemed to be able to somehow get his own way with everyone. In fact, it seemed the more one resisted the easier it was to give in. Even Arthur, much to his chagrin, was no exception to the "Alfred rule".

The way down from the previous high ground to the coast was via a narrow, sloping path that had been cut out of the rock face. Years of weathering made the way slippery and somewhat hazardous without great concentration, and pebbles of all sizes waited below to waylay the unfortunate traveller by slipping beneath his feet.

"Watch your step," Alfred took his hand before he had time to jerk it away, guiding him the last few steps over the most precarious part of the path.

Arthur tried not to blush under the warmth of Alfred's hand. Why should he blush? It was simply the cold stinging his cheeks perhaps. The wind by the coast was much harsher than inland.

"Damn! It's cold here!" Alfred shivered.

Arthur shrugged, though he too was beginning o wish that he had brought warmer clothes with him. "Of course. What, did you expect this to be like Florida?"

"Are you cold?" Alfred asked.

"A little," Arthur shuddered, rubbing his hands over his arms.

Alfred moved a step closer to him, causing Arthur to instinctively jerk back.

"Hey, I'm not going to do anything!" he cried, blushing bright red.

"You better not, git!"

"God, you're so stubborn!" Alfred snorted, throwing his jacket over Arthur's head. "Is that a little better?"

"…Yeah, thanks," he murmured, though it was not without some degree of mistrust.

"Hey, Arthur."

Arthur looked up at the sound of his name.

"Do you…" Alfred rolled his eyes and looked away, "do you dislike me?"

"I…don't hate you," he blushed slightly, though not enough to be discernable.

"O - Oh really? Well, that's good, I guess," Alfred shrugged awkwardly. It was strange seeing him like this. Arthur had always known Alfred to be a smooth talker, charming everyone and anyone who engaged him in conversation. He did not even know Alfred was capable of stuttering. Then again, Alfred always wanted to be liked by everyone.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Eh, I was just curious, I guess,"

"I would appreciate it though if you didn't put gum in my hair," he said dryly.

"Oh," Alfred chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, even though we know the same people, come to think of it, we don't really hang out like normal people do."

Arthur snorted in agreement. Unless normal people threw paper balls at each other, stole each other's food, copied notes without permission, and put gum in their hair, then no, Arthur did not really consider their definition of 'hanging out' to be the normal kind.

"Let's hang out when we get back."

"Huh?"

"I mean properly hang out. Go to the movies and stuff," Alfred grinned. "I mean, I'm sure Francis and Feliciano and everyone else would be relieved if we did."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "Alright."

"What, you serious?" Alfred's face lit up.

"If you are then why not?"

"Awesome! Now what was it we were supposed to be doing?" he asked and Arthur hit him with a copy of Sense and Sensibility.

XX

With much coaxing, and a few firmly placed words, Arthur finally managed to convince Alfred that skinny dipping in the sea was not a better idea than doing their research. Besides, they only had a few hours until they were all to return to the rendezvous point to be taken into town. Their tutor might leave them to starve in the wilderness if they did not do any work. He would do it.

The threat of going hungry was more than enough to motivate Alfred. Arthur was actually surprised how hard-working he could be once he was fixed on it. The day grew warmed as the hours waned. Alfred kicked off his sweater and Arthur discarded Alfred's jacket to the side by the rocks.

The ecology on the coast was not particularly interesting to study; it was similar to a thousand other case studies he had read, yet being there, listening to the rhythm of the waves and letting the wind gently blow through his hair was soothing. Even Alfred was now on his best behaviour.

"Ahh, that took forever!" he groaned once they had finally finished.

Arthur mumbled something about getting lots of work done as they joined the rest of the students waiting for the pick-up coach.

"It was a good call choosing the coast. It was a lot nicer there than the flatland," he admitted.

"Told ya it'd be good!" Alfred stretched out the muscles in his back. He winced every time he heard a heavy click but Alfred grinned as if twisting his bones had refreshed him somehow. "I hope the food's good but seeing how close this place is to England, it probably isn't it."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest that British food was perfectly good and perfectly edible thank-you-very-much, but a chill wind went straight to his bones, causing him to shudder slightly. It was definitely growing colder quickly. It was not even this cold in the morning.

"Your jacket!" Arthur jumped. He thought that something was amiss. He had put Alfred's jacket down on the coast and had completely forgotten to pick it up after they had finished.

"Huh?"

"I left your jacket on the coast!"

"You did what?" Alfred smacked the butt of his palm against his forehead. It was a well-known fact that Alfred's fondness for that jacket reached almost insane levels. He wore it almost everywhere and treated it with the same protectiveness one would treat a beloved pet. If Arthur had the patience, he would have wondered why Alfred had given him the jacket in the first place.

"I'll go get it now," he started running.

"Hey, wait, it's dark!" he cried but Arthur was already halfway back.

The stars were out to illuminate the narrow path leading down to the coast, but it was still treacherously dark as shadows lay deceivingly over the bends and turns leading down. Holding out his arms to steady himself, he made his way down. He could not be too slow or the others would leave without him. Maybe they would not even notice that he was gone. Would Alfred ask them to wait?

The dirt beneath his feet gave way, slipping from under him. Arthur cried out as he felt himself lose his balance, his arms flung out to grab something for balance but his back bit into the hard ground before he could find anything. Tumbling over the narrow path, he felt himself falling, hitting parts of the rock face that jutted out and the branches of bushes growing on the side of the rocks.

Finally, he hit the coast. He had not been too far from the ground when he had fallen but that did not stop his body from stinging like hell. Muttering curses under his breath, he remained perfectly still in the darkness, trying to catch his breath.

"Arthur! Arthur, are you alright?" the sound of Alfred's voice cut his reprieve short. He twisted his head around to see Alfred running down the path, dangerously jumping down from time to time as he made his hurried way towards him.

"Fine," he groaned, pushing himself up with his stinging hands. "Just a little bruised."

If the look on Alfred's face was anything to go by, he was not fine at all. He looked at him as if he were dying, but Arthur was more than convinced that he was suffering from no moe than a little bruising.

"That was dangerous! You could've cracked your skull open or something!" Alfred shouted once he had checked him over for broken bones or missing limbs. For once Arthur cowed a little at the sight of his anger.

"But the jacket - "

"The jacket could have waited 'til tomorrow!" he snapped.

"But…." Arthur blushed. Surely it was not right that he should be feeling like a naughty child right now. All he had done was try to get Alfred's beloved jacket back and he was not even particularly badly hurt! He could not understand why Alfred was overreacting like this. Nothing had happened after all.

Alfred suddenly sighed, sweeping his hair back with his hand. He stood up and walked over to the jacket lying where Arthur had left it on the coast. "Well, I've got it now. Can you walk?"

"Of course!" Arthur stood up just to prove his fitness. His ankle was a little sore and there were a few small cuts over his hands but he considered himself lucky that there was no more than that.

Without warning, Alfred threw his jacket over Arthur's shoulders again and – Arthur was not quite sure what he did. It felt like something between a tackle and a throw – managed to heave him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Fuck!" Arthur swore in surprise, keeping careful grip on Alfred's jacket in case he lost it again. "Alfred, put me down!" he demanded.

"This way I know you won't trip up," Alfred's voice sounded far too cheerful for him not to worry.

"This is so undignified! Put me down!" he wriggled but Alfred's grip held fast.

"Would you rather I carried you like a princess?" he teased.

Though Arthur was tempted to say that he would rather be a princess than a sack of potatoes he kept his mouth shut. Knowing Alfred, he would indeed carry him bridle style the whole way back if provoked.

"Aren't I heavy?"

"Hmm? Nah, you're good. Nothing a hero like me can't take!" Alfred thumped his chest and Arthur muttered more curses under his breath.

The way up was slow going, causing Arthur to believe that Alfred had probably been lying about being heavy. By the time that they made it to the rendezvous point the coach had already gone, leaving them to walk their way back to the town.

Curiously, Alfred remained strangely pleasant throughout the whole course of their walk, refraining from teasing him or talking about some of their more unpleasant experiences with each other. Of course, what would have been an enjoyable experience was somewhat offset by the fact that Alfred insisted on keeping him slung over his shoulder the entire way back.

Yet, even so, Arthur would later look at the moment in time as the turning point for falling in love.

* * *

And that really is the end! Thanks everyone for reviewing!

XX


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